


Dark Games

by thekarmapolice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Romance, Slow Build, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 131,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekarmapolice/pseuds/thekarmapolice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She showed up on Halloween night, with her big hair, her big mouth. Her magic touches the darkness of my soul, my name on her Mudblood lips sounds foreign. She began this dangerous game."<br/>Her best friends knew that she was lost, trapped in a place of darkness. They would do anything to find her, even if they had to face the Dark Lord again and break the circle of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

 _Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires._  
― William Shakespeare,  _Macbeth_

.

* * *

.

If the first time I thought she had big hair, the second time I see her I think she has big hair  _and_  a big mouth.

It's Tuesday morning, a week before Christmas break, and I'm heading towards the Great Hall. I'm walking across the unnaturally quiet corridors, Arithmancy's equations in my head, when I spot a humming group of students obstructing the passage.

I scowl. Straining my ears to catch hints of what's going on, I march up to this little  _early_  gathering and, as I near it, soft murmurs coalesce into distinct whispers until I'm able to make out a voice. Undeniably female, it reaches my ears, gradually rising, almost yelling from what I presume is the centre of the scene.

"Just who do you think you are!?"

Someone replies, mumbling like an idiot. Even with his face concealed by the wall of people in front of me, I already have half an idea of who he might be.

Being right behind the crowd, I look through the gaps of arms and shoulders and, as expected, there it is. Potter's face.

I roll my eyes. Leave it to him to cause a scene first thing in the morning. For Salazar's sake, I still haven't had my daily dose of caffeine. Yes, Gryffindor might lose more than its daily dose of points today.

While I try to make my way through the herd of students, the girl speaks again.

"Try doing that again and I'll hex you!" The threat is accompanied by an equally hostile voice.

"Come on, I just wanted to ask her out to Hogsmeade, is that a crime?" Potter asks, trying to sound his usual conceited-self once more - and failing miserably.

"You... stupid brainless flobberworm! You don't ask someone out while groping them! And she told you to stop several times!"

I walk around the students, looking for a passage. Sighing when I don't find one, I close my eyes, already feeling a headache forming against my temples.

Knowing that making an ulterior scene can't be avoided, not in a situation like this, I slowly lift my head and clear my throat, ready to speak up, but I stop upon catching movement out of the corner of my eye... and I promptly clench my jaw at the sight of the portrait of a barely sober Violet Tillyman leaning forward, as if to tilt her head out of her frame, a flush rising in her cheeks - for the juicy gossip she's collecting, no doubt.

Annoyed at her and the general spectacle, I stare at the woman for several seconds and, at last, she looks my way. As expected, her double-take is overly dramatic and the blush in her cheeks deepens on command, but at least she has the good grace to genuinely look embarrassed and leave her frame at once, the request to call a teacher clear in my glare.

I envision a cup of coffee while the scene taking place mere feet from me is tuned in again.

Potter's ugly voice pierces my ears. "I wasn't! Why do you even care anyway? She isn't your friend, is she?"

Potter pauses. Even if I don't see him any more, I can imagine his expression as he thinks over the next stupid thing to say. He doesn't disappoint. "Wait, you are jealous! Is that it, Granger?"

_Granger?_

"Ha ha!" Miss Granger gives in a big, bitter laugh. "You are really arrogant, you know that? You could give Lockhart a good run for his galleons, you slimy moron!"

_Lockhart?_

"If you wanted to have me, you just had to ask, Granger. I can't blame you, I  _am_ hot- and a pure-blood. Haven't touched many of us, have you? Actually, I bet that you haven't-"

"You, idiot! No way I would come to you of all people. Trust me, I would rather date a Blast-Endend Skrewt than you."

Ignoring the fact that this Granger is probably insane –  _what's a Blast-Endend Skrewt?_  - I can't help but raise a bewildered eyebrow. I've never heard a girl talk in such insulting words, not to a man, and definitely not to a pure-blood. But I must admit it, she is quite creative.

After a short and mental chuckle, I straighten myself and tap the shoulder of a student standing in front of me, clearing my throat. A boy, Diggory, looks up questioningly before widening his eyes.

"R-Riddle," he greets me nervously, stepping back on the foot of one of his classmates. The second boy curses under his breath, shooting an angry look at a tense Diggory. But as soon as he notices me, whispers start spreading among the students and the crowd gradually grows silent, acknowledging my presence.

I walk in the middle of the ring, getting nose to nose with a dishevelled Charlus Potter and a quiet but nervous Prewett. If I'm surprised to see the new Ravenclaw girl, Granger, behind the idiotic pair, I don't let it show.

"What's going on here?" I ask coldly, addressing Potter.

The boy opens and closes his mouth like a fish, but, at last, he manages to mutter, "I-I... I didn't-"

Granger cuts him off, "He was harassing a student!"

My eyes lock with Granger's and then settle on the shaking figure behind her back.

"Is that true, Miss Clearwater?" I ask the blonde head peeking over the new girl's shoulder.

She nods, her gaze darting between Potter and me, and I don't have any reason to not believe her. Clearwater's eyes are still wary while Granger's are murderous. That's proof enough.

Well, it isn't the first time that Potter has harassed a girl either, so there's nothing new here. As a prefect I can't just let it slip- by 'it' I mean the opportunity to legally taunt the House of brave fools.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and... detention, Mr Potter. I'm sure Professor Dippet will be pleased to let you clean the Trophy Room the muggle way,  _again_ ," I say calmly. Not waiting for a reply, I face the crowd, "Move, show's over."

The students immediately scatter around, walking towards the Great Hall or heading outside. I'm about to follow them and have my deserved coffee, but a growl stops me.

"You, bint..."

I turn around just in time to see Potter pointing his wand at Granger's back, and I'm about to reach for my own and shout for the girl to move, but she beats me on the second. I almost  _don't_  see her whip around and draw her wand to block Potter's jinx with precise movements. In the blink of an eye, the Gryffindor flies across the corridor and lands hard on his arse, banging his head against the wall.

"Never," Granger hisses through clenched teeth, "try to do that again. This is my last warning."

With a final glare at the pathetic form of Potter, she walks out of the castle with a seemingly unconcerned air. Still, I didn't miss the dangerous glint in her eyes when they met mine as she swung around.

I stare at her retreating back, confused about something I can't point out yet. It has to do with the fight... Ah, that's it.

But Granger is already far away from my sight when I recall the fact that she hexed a student  _after_  having defended herself.

_Bugger._

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath before turning for the doors, after the new girl.

_When this is over, I will kill whoever tries to get between me and my bloody dose of caffeine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I started another story, my first Tomione (:
> 
> Now, a little warning. This story will be dark, it will contain violence and mature themes, but won't have a relationship based on torture, domination and coercion - there will be scenes with the former later on, but not between the main characters and they absolutely won't be the foundation of a romance. Big spoiler? Not really. I want this to be clear in case you are looking for stories different from mine in this sense (I don't want to promote a sick relationship).
> 
> About the dark part. It's a crescendo. From light to dark. Not horror and gore-dark, but psychological- sometimes fucked up-dark. And somehow tasteful, I think, dark.
> 
> If you liked it, please, consider leaving a review. I would love to have a feedback on this story (:


	2. Chapter 1 - Bookworms

 

The first time I saw her was on Halloween night.

Abraxas and I were on our way to patrol the corridors on the second floor, our boring duty as prefects. Nothing really happens during these nightly rounds: sometimes we discover couples snogging in alcoves, sometimes we catch Peeves behind a tapestry, barking obscenities or scheming pranks, but most nights are quiet, maybe way too much. The vigilance has been reinforced as of late.

However, this wasn't one of those boring nights.

I was half-heartedly listening to Malfoy bragging about the last bird he had managed to get in his bed as we walked towards the stairs.

"She's a Hufflepuff," Abraxas was laughing. "Seriously, I thought Hufflepuff girls were  _shy_ , not... like that. I usually avoid them for obvious reasons, but, Merlin, was she crazy!"

"Hmm." Honestly, I didn't care about Abraxas' sexual activities, but I had the feeling that he wasn't going to shut up anytime soon.

"Anyway," he continued, "she said that her friend, Clarissa, is pretty down these days. That she might, and here I quote, need comfort. Potter dumped her for that redhead-"

I drowned Abraxas' voice out, not really interested. I knew the story already, it was in loop since our third year, the only discordance in the girls wearing the dumped role every one or two weeks. I inwardly rolled my eyes at their stupidity.

My mind was quite occupied with something else anyway, an important personal project I had started in June... but it consisted more of questions than answers. This last particular problem was revealing itself to be quite the distraction lately, not only when in company of Abraxas' incessant voice, but while sitting in class as well.

"So, are you in?"

I looked at Malfoy.  _Must be about the Clarissa girl._

Before I had the chance to say anything, footsteps neared us.

"Oh, Tom, Abraxas!"

Looking up, I plastered a smile on my face. The headmaster was descending the stairs, wearing a toothy grin and almost jumping on the ball of his feet.

 _Too much elf-made wine_ , I thought.

I was about to greet Professor Dippet when I caught a glimpse of the figure behind him. The corners of my lips immediately curled downwards.

With what could only be described as an imposing appearance, soothed by a serene smile, and an unmistakable aura of power wrapped around him, walking towards us was a redhead, middle-aged man. The candles floating around the hall flickered at his presence and even the usual faint creaking of the old walls seemed to mute at his passage.

But I knew that only I could sense the shift in the air. In the eyes of Malfoy, standing beside me with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his slacks, and in the eyes of Dippet, who was grinning up at one of his best teachers, Albus Dumbledore was nothing more than a brilliant wizard, eccentric at times, but calm and wise.

Tonight Dumbledore was wearing a violet, star-patterned robe paired with violet shoes of silk. Once again I couldn't help but question his sense of fashion, not that I had one myself, but at least people didn't see me clothed like a buffoon.

I kept my expression impassive when the Transfiguration professor nodded at me, smiling. Most of the times I couldn't tell if his smiles were fake or not. He was a fool, but he could easily fool anyone as well.

Then, my eyes fell on a third person I hadn't seen before- a girl, definitely not a student. I couldn't see much of her under the dim lights in the corridor, but I could make out her petite frame, the baggy clothes she wore. I thought that her hair was somehow  _big_.

I furrowed my eyebrows for the girl kept on staring at me longer than necessary, hard and unblinking, until Dumbledore gently grasped her shoulder. The action wasn't wasted on me.

Looking down at the girl again, I noticed how her hands were balled into tight fists, slightly shaking for... what? I couldn't name the emotion emanating from her.

I didn't know what to do, if to give in simple courtesy and introduce myself and Abraxas, or just stay silent. I opted for the latter, not trusting myself to not look bemused at the glower the girl was so blatantly shooting in my direction. It was unnerving, but it's not like I could do something about it; I could just let it go as Dumbledore bade us goodnight and led the strange woman to the Great Hall.

* * *

I haven't seen Granger since that night.

I don't know much about her either. No formal announcement of her arrival was made and what I know is the product of rumours and speculations; they say that she had to move here because of the "war". I'm not sure to which one they refer: there are two wars at the moment, raging outside the walls of this castle.

I heard that she's a seventh-year and that she's quite intelligent – she must be, she was sorted into Ravenclaw after all – but apart from answering a few questions during class, people haven't heard her talking a lot. Apparently, she spends most of her time in the library, but I've never seen her there.

The air is biting cold when I step in the courtyard.

I stand stiffly near a column, trying to contain shivers as the wind flicks at my arms and the nape of my neck.

_Where is she? Bushy head, bushy head..._

It isn't hard to find. I march towards Granger, stopping at an acceptable distance but not too far away for her not to feel my presence. She's sitting at the foot of a bare tree, a thick volume in her lap, and she seems immersed in the reading, blissfully unaware of the loud voices around her.

I stand here, silently waiting, but when she doesn't raise her gaze, I clear my throat. No response is given.

Forcing myself to remain patient, I clear my throat again.

"Something's wrong with your throat?" she finally inquires, eyes still fixed on her book.

"Twenty points from Ravenclaw," I state, ignoring her question.

Granger merely nods her head.

"That's it?" I mentally kick myself when I can't help but vocalise the question, the tone of disbelief unfortunately clear.

With a sigh, the girl snaps her book shut and, at last, looks up.

"What should I say?" she shrugs. "I've attacked a student with no valid motivation. You took points from my House. End of the story. And end of the conversat- wait."

I raise my eyebrows when she narrows her eyes suspiciously. "I thought that prefects couldn't deduct points from other houses."

"We can. Who told you that anyway?"

She shrugs again. "Guess I misread-"

"Aren't you cold?" I cut her off, looking pointedly at Granger's thin school uniform.

"Hot-Air Charm," she says dismissively, opening her book again. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

I stare down at her as she impatiently skims page after page, eyes moving quickly under her long dark eyelashes.

I should go now, get to class before Professor Merrythought starts her lesson, but I hesitate on the spot. I spend another instant to take in the petite figure in front of me, her brown and bushy head, her red nose... I don't even know her name. But before I can ask, Granger rises to her feet, dusts herself off, and briskly walks past me without so much as a second glance.

I curse under my breath when a quick glance at my muggle wristwatch informs me that I'm already late for Merrythought's class.

.

* * *

.

When the last day of first term comes around, the whole school seems to be on a sugar high, teachers included. All you can hear while passing in corridors are students talking excitedly of their plans for the break, charmed armours singing off-key Christmas carols or, if one's really out of luck, the gross sound of couples snogging under the mistletoe.

I risked a couple of accidents with the sodding plant and two hopeful girls this morning, but a charming smile and a small wave of my wand under my back fixed the problem – meaning, the mistletoe incidentally took fire and fell to ashes on the floor. I mentally thanked Peeves for showing up with a perfect timing.

By dinner time, the noise in the quaking Great Hall reaches its maximum level, resulting in a splitting headache and a minimum level of tolerance on my part. Honestly, I just want to eat in peace and return to the quiet of my dorms. But no, instead I have to ignore Malfoy and Rosier's animated and pointless discussions and try to be blind to all this unnecessarily cheeriness that comes with far too many redundant bright colours for my taste.

I massage my temples.

"Hey, Tom."

I clench my jaw, suppressing the snarl that's threatening to leave my throat, but after snapping my eyes up at Feodor, who is sitting across from me, I just frown.

Feodor Nott has never been a noisy guy; he isn't as talkative and loud as Abraxas nor as stupid as Rosier. He usually sticks to his books and to his beloved stars, though he doesn't step back from giving his opinion when requested. He's a loyal Knight and I respect him for his honesty and composure.

That's why, when my eyes meet Feodor's, I just arch a questioningly eyebrow instead of cursing the hell out of him.

"The old coot is staring at you," he says before returning to his book. For a second his action reminds me of a bushy head, but I immediately banish the weird thought from my mind.

I turn my gaze on the High Table and catch Dumbledore observing me from behind his half-moon spectacles. Unfazed by those penetrating blue eyes that threaten to look into my very soul, I hold his stare until he's forced to divert it in favour of a chatty Slughorn.

The Transfiguration professor has been studying my every move, or lack thereof, very closely since last year's episode, keeping an eye on me during classes and whenever he can; to ensure that I'm no danger to the school, he has even asked a few trusted portraits to follow me throughout the castle. Thanks Morgana I know more secret passages than the whole staff and students put together.

I'm not stupid, I'm aware that he's been suspicious of me for a while about that Warren girl's death. It was a damn accident, I didn't really want for a student to die, but how could I have known that the girl would find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time?

I tried to command my pet to slither back to its chamber, but it was too late, the damage had been done. I felt sick to my stomach. She may have been a Mudblood, but I didn't want to kill her.

"The man's mental," comments Feodor, closing his book –  _Motion and disappearance of Celestial Bodies_  by Corvus Sinistra - and shoving it in his bag.

I hum in agreement.

"Are you going home for the break?" I ask, helping myself to a plate of pudding.

Feodor shakes his head, a forlorn expression painted on his face. "Not unless I want to suffer my mother's never-ending gossiping and my father singing on vodka with his friends- in Russian of course."

 _Still better than the orphanage_ , I think, but I don't dare say it out loud. Not that Feodor doesn't know where I stay during the summer, but the students sitting around us have the despicable tendency to eavesdrop.

Finishing quickly my last spoonful of pudding, I collect my things and stand.

"See you later." I wave off to Feodor and walk out of the Great Hall.

.

* * *

.

When I step into my haven, only silence greets me and I almost smile. I can feel the stabbing pain in my head finally ease its hold.

As expected, the library is deserted and dark, illuminated only by the dim light of a few oil lamps. I head for the Restricted Section without demur: I found an interesting reading the other day, quite illuminating, about an old spell that's just the answer to what I've been looking for the past seven months.

I don't waste time. I approach the third row of bookshelves, kneel before the third shelf from the bottom, reach a hand to grab the book and-

My eyes widen in horror.

Nothing. It's not here.

_I'm certain it should be here, no one could have moved it._

_Okay, don't panic, maybe this wasn't the right place..._

Still, there's a bloody empty space between the books, right where mine should have been.

_How can it be? I put wards on it. Powerful ones._

I begin to search every bookshelf, every dusty corner of the library. I try to Summon it and Locate it, but to no avail. I even ask the librarian for help, something I'm quite reluctant to do; it's not like I should feel jittery about it, I  _do_  have permission to visit the Restricted Section, but that book isn't an ordinary Charms textbook.

After checking the archives three times, the old woman gives up and tells me that no such volume has ever been property of the Hogwarts Library. I'm about to ask her to check a fourth time when I catch her irritated look and think better of it.

"Now, Mr Riddle," she says sternly, pushing her thick glasses back up the bridge of her upturned nose. "I'm sure you are eager to study and perfect those already impeccable grades of yours, but it's late, don't you think?"

Standing, she fishes in her pockets for a ring of keys. "If you want to continue your... research, feel free to do so. I trust that you will put on the usual Security Charms on the Restricted Section and close the doors."

I assent weakly, lowering my eyes to the floor, hiding the imminent rage about to take over.  _How?_

"Return these tomorrow." The librarian thrusts the keys into my hand. "Good night, Tom."

I watch as the woman quickly disappears behind a tower of books.

I inhale and exhale, trying to calm down.

_Books don't disappear like this. Maybe I got the wrong title-_

_No. No. It's here, it must be. I Warded it, didn't I?_

I don't want to cave, I don't want to accept the most logical reasoning yet, the one caressing my head with a hint of alarm. If there were Wards, then-

_No, no, no one breaks my Wards._

I resume the hunt, but after another fruitless hour I have to stop and give up.

Dragging in a shaky breath, I accept the fact that Bullock's  _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_  is nowhere to be found.

.

* * *

.

Walking through the corridors is much easier today. Few students have decided to stay for the break, so there are no fawning girls around, no jostling bodies racing down the hallways. The only sound that breaks the eerie silence is the echo of my footfall against the tiled floor as I walk to the Great Hall for dinner.

I woke up early this morning and returned to the library, where I spent all my energies trying to find Bullock's book. Needless to say, I strode out of the library empty-handed. Again. And I even skipped breakfast and lunch for that bloody book.

When I enter the Great Hall, the ceiling is filled with a blanket of clouds promising snow. The room is still decorated in the bright colours of the day before, but the sight is much better with all the students gone. The traditional twelve Christmas trees stand along the side walls and the five House tables and the High Table have been replaced by a much smaller one.

I feel a bit uncomfortable when I realise that staff and students are already sitting, talking jovially among themselves. They have clearly been waiting for my arrival before digging in the delectable food, which is still hot and untouched. I can sniff its appetising aroma from where I stand.

"Tom!" Professor Dippet calls out. "There you are! I was worried you wouldn't show up."

"I apologise for my tardiness, sir," I say, nearing the table while looking for an available seat. I spot one next to Feodor.

"No need, my boy," Dippet says airily, clapping his hands before tucking in his roasted turkey. Everyone at the table follows suit, filling their plates with the delicious food prepared by the house-elves. I serve myself of chicken with mushroom sauce, something I wouldn't be able to eat at Wool's Orphanage. Maybe I could eat chicken wings within those sombre walls, but definitely not the mushrooms or any other fine food laid on this table.

I inconspicuously peer my eyes around while savouring the tender meat. Dumbledore is chatting amiably with Professor Merrythought, the Defence against Dark Arts teacher; I inwardly roll my eyes at the red and green robes he's sporting.

There are five other students besides Feodor and me at the table: two Gryffindor first-year kids, a third-year boy from Ravenclaw, and, to my surprise, Clearwater and Granger.

"Everything's okay?" Feodor whispers. "Didn't see you in the Common Room."

I open my mouth to question since when he's keeping tabs on me, but I shut it at his real concern. What was the hat thinking when it placed Feodor in Slytherin?

"Yes," I reply with a sigh, "everything's fine. I was in the library. I... couldn't find a book."

I see Granger shift slightly in her seat from the corner of my eye. She's quietly nibbling on a slice of bread, everything she has been eating until now. I look at Evelyn Clearwater, who is sitting in front of me, talking with Slughorn about the collateral effects of Dreamless potions.

I wait patiently, finishing my meal; when the professor eventually directs his attention to the two first-years, I openly look at Evelyn.

"Miss Clearwater," I smile after taking a sip of my water, "I haven't had the pleasure to talk with you in some time. How are you?"

If I was to look at Evelyn's left, I would see Granger scoffing under her breath.

Clearwater gives me a small grin. "I'm well. And... about that morning- with Charlus. Thank you."

I shake my head. "I did nothing. Miss Granger, on the other hand..."

I turn my head towards the new girl, tilting the corners of my lips as I meet her eyes. "She's mostly gifted in duelling."

If I was expecting her to blush or lower her eyes in embarrassment, I was completely wrong.

"Thank you," she says, an unperturbed expression on her face.

I blink before managing another pleasant smile. "I heard Professor Merrythought will start a duelling club. I hope seventh-year students will join. I would like to see you duel again. Last time was... entertaining."

"I'll think about it," Granger replies dryly, but her eyes said,  _No_.

I have this feeling, but- No, it can't be. I'm reading too much into it. She may be so cold with everyone.

When all the plates on the table are replaced by desserts, I see Granger lunge at the food for the first time this evening. I look at her in half-irritation and half-amusement as she cuts a generous slice of chocolate cake and proceeds to eat it greedily.

I try not to stare at her passionate demonstration of love, but it doesn't matter how much I concentrate on my apple pie, my eyes seem to lift on their own accord and find the weird witch – who apparently has a very sweet tooth. Questions are flooding my brain, making it impossible for me to  _just_  think.

_Who is she? Was she forced to fight in the war? That would explain why she was so good at brandishing a wand the other day._

I tell myself that these questions are the symptoms of simple curiosity. But all my speculations just melt away when I catch Granger licking her index finger clean. Something in my guts stirs at the sight-

_No. That's gross. Doesn't she have any manners?_

Feodor, who has finished his dessert before any of us, is now reading his book. Unfortunately, I have to glance back at the new girl when she gasps loudly. Now,  _this_ I didn't see coming.

"Is that the first edition of Corvus Sinistra's book?" she asks eagerly, tilting her head to take a better look at the cover.

Feodor nods, baffled, and holds out the book. Granger takes it with the pad of her fingers, handling it with extreme care. Her eyes shine in delight.

"It won't break, you know?" he laughs, watching the Ravenclaw girl turning the pages with reverence. "And the printing is still at its third edition, so it's not like this copy is valuable or anything."

"Not yet," she says. "There aren't many copies of the first edition in Britain. Only-"

"Fifteen," Feodor finishes, a full smile on his face. I've never seen him smile like this before.

Evelyn laughs when Granger flushes with excitement.

"Do you like astronomy?" she asks to her classmate. The bushy head nods, her nose already buried in the book.

Evelyn looks at Feodor.

"No need to ask if  _you_  like the subject," she says, crossing her arms over the table while all dishes disappear. "You practically live in the Astronomy Tower."

"I didn't know you were following me, Clearwater." Feodor is smirking, but I notice the subtle note of hesitation in his eyes.

"I wasn't. Everyone's noticed that you are always in the Astronomy Wing, alone."

"Your attentiveness is scary."

Evelyn gives a delicate little snort, "I mean that it's common knowledge that you spend more time staring at the stars than in the company of mere mortals."

"Well, I'm flattered that  _you_  spend time listening to rumours about me, I really am. I thought you Ravenclaws were always hunched over books, but it seems that the smarter ones prefer the stalking hobby."

Leaning back in my chair, I listen absently to Clearwater and Feodor's bickering. Granger is still studying the bloody book, her eyes sparkling with interest. Not that I mind, of course. It's a nice change of pace not being the centre of attention for once.

Smothering a yawn in my sleeve, I realise how knackered I am. Searching for a book that might have been a product of my imagination is tiring.

Letting a small yawn escape my mouth, I push back my chair to rise to my feet, but I'm forced to blink back sleep the moment Granger stands up as well, ready to go.

"Thank you, I will surely buy a copy myself," she's saying, stretching her arms to return the book.

Feodor shakes his head, smiling up at Granger. "You can read it if you want. I finished it anyway."

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr Nott," she replies, beaming.

"Feodor is fine, Granger."

I want to roll my eyes.

"Tom," Feodor turns his eyes on me, "you okay?"

"Sure," I shrug. "Just turning in for the evening."

Evelyn gives Granger an odd look. "Aren't you going back to the Common Room as well?"

The brunette shifts her weight from one foot to the other, glancing at anything but me. She mumbles, "Ye- Yes, I am."

I frown when I take in the expectant looks on Evelyn and Feodor's faces. Then it dawns on me.

I clear my throat. "I will accompany you, then."

Granger doesn't seem too excited at the idea, but I still wait for her by the heavy oak door while she takes her bag and bids Clearwater, Feodor, and the remaining professors at the table goodnight. I see Dumbledore eye me contemplatively before saying something to Granger, smiling kindly at her.

The bushy head and I walk through the corridors in a strained silence. I debated whether to offer her my arm when we picked our way to the fifth floor, but looking at Granger walking in front of me now, her hair bouncing on her shoulders in rhythm with her firm steps, I tell myself it's good that I didn't.

I feel the tension radiating from her in waves and I ask myself, again, why is that. She looked fine during dinner, talking normally with Clearwater and even Feodor. I wouldn't go as far as to say that she was happy, because I could see that she wasn't. She isn't. There's something about her expression that I can't really point out, something bitter behind her small smiles. The fact that I can't tell what it is, that secret emotion dulling her eyes and shadowing her face, makes me feel utterly frustrated, much to my surprise.

Tom Riddle  _doesn't_  feel frustrated. Or curious.

Or even if I am, curious, I'm definitely not the type to solve puzzles - not that this girl is one and not that I'm interested, Salazar forbid – because what I do when I want to know something is just ask. But because I'm not really interested, I don't.

When we reach another set of moving stairs, Granger finally turns her head over her shoulder.

"There's no need to accompany me the whole way," she says tightly, still avoiding my eyes.

I shake my head.

"I know my well manners, Miss Granger," I counter stoutly.  _You won't get rid of me that easily._  "It's my pleasure to accompany you to the tower. And a duty as a prefect."

"I can make it there safely even without your help," she says, peering at me under her long dark eyelashes.

"Of that I have no doubt," I say, looking down at her. She's much shorter than me, her head barely reaches my shoulders. The difference in height gives me a strange sense of power over the girl and, finally, something feels right.

"I don't want to... bother you," she speaks carefully, squinting her eyes slightly, "the dungeons are in the opposite direction after all and I'm sure you want to go to bed."

"Why, Miss Granger?" I ask, feigning hurt. "Why do I have the impression that my presence causes you discomfort? If I have done something wrong, please say so."

Granger opens and closes her mouth, taken aback.

She shakes her head, "N-no. That's nothing like that at all, you did nothing wrong. I apologise for this misunderstanding."

Her voice is strong and I  _almost_  buy the apology, but I don't fail to notice how the half-smile she stretches on her lips doesn't reach her eyes.  _What are you playing at? Why-_

_Okay, so maybe I am a little interested._

"Well, since everything's alright, I have to insist," I say, climbing the first two steps to make a point. Granger follows me without further objections.

When we reach the spiral staircase that leads to the Common Room's entrance, I thank Salazar the Slytherins don't have to walk this path every day.

"Thank you." Granger gives me a quick glance.

"Wait," I call her before she can walk away.  _You don't dismiss me like that._

The girl stops in her tracks; I think I hear her sigh, but when she swings around to face me, she just looks at me quizzically.

I shorten our distance with a slow step, getting closer than necessary, so close that I can feel her breath on my neck as she strains hers to look up at me. She swallows inaudibly when I stare into her wide eyes.

"I wish we could be friends, Miss Granger," I say softly. I fight a smile when I see her bottom lip tremble faintly; the evidence that I do affect her is here, before me, clear as day.

Not waiting for a reply, I step back and extend my hand. "I haven't even properly introduced myself," I chuckle. "I'm Tom Riddle."

Granger blinks at me and I can hear the wheels turning in her head. After a few seconds of uncertainty, she nods and shakes my hand. Her fingers are cold but I don't let them go.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

_Hermione._

"Hermione." Her name rolls off my tongue with a sweet sound I don't fake at all. "Like the daughter of Helen of Troy."

I want to believe that the smile she gives me before disappearing up the stairs is real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's the first chapter, finally. I admit that this chapter is a bit slow, but I'm trying to set everything before the games can begin.
> 
> Anyway, next chapter will come with a surprise, hopefully before next week!
> 
> I hope you will consider leaving a review because I would love to have a feedback on my first long fanfiction story (:


	3. Chapter 2 - Battles

 

She was running.

Her feet were sliding dangerously on the soil, her mouth taking in the humid air of the night in gulps, her chest heaving in pain and exhaustion. Leaves and branches scratched her face like knives on porcelain skin, but she kept running through the dark forest by inertia.

Green and red lights illuminated the wild setting, flying past her as she tried to dodge each curse aimed at her back, bending on sore knees or ducking behind trees before she could sprint forward again.

She had lost sight of  _him_  minutes earlier. Or were those hours?

All she wanted to do by now was double over her knees and just breath, or... give up. Stop running. Go out, in the clear, and let it all end with one simple word, one quick glance into Death's eyes and-

No. She couldn't. It just wasn't right. She needed to find him. Stop him.

Her mind wasn't working any more, her body was moving by her sole instinct. She felt like an animal running from a promised feast, a feast of which she was the main course. She was the prey.

She was about to give in the desire to launch herself on the ground and lie there until it was over, whichever way that would be, when blood-curdling screams echoed in the air. Her heart stopped beating and constricted up her throat. The sound pierced her ears and another wave of panic rushed over her.

She dashed behind a tree and tried her best to still her twitching limbs and ease her breathing. Crouching, she tilted her head and listened. Tears ran down her stained cheeks while the screams gradually turned into a distant and weak howling. Then, the aching whimpers abruptly stopped. She choked on air and sobbed, looking through the darkness in the direction of the castle.

When red sparks flew towards her again, missing their goal by inches, she had to talk herself into resuming the run.

She moved foot after foot the fastest she could until she spotted something moving in front of her, through the leaves. A man. Her vision was fogged, but she could make out a tall frame, a ripped and filthy t-shirt. Black messy hair. She could recognise his hair anywhere.

She sped up and the trees thinned out. She saw  _him_  run into a clearing, right into their predator's hungry jaws.  _Why? Why wasn't he running away?_

"No!" she shouted with all her remaining forces- in fear. And panic.  _Why? Why?_

He heard her. He stilled for a brief moment. He twisted around to look back at her, an expression of pure horror covering his face.

"Hermione!" he yelled in alarm. "Don't!"

But she kept on running towards him, over the edge of the forest, into the glade.

"Hermione, hide! Run!"

His voice was hoarse but he pleaded for her to run away from there, again and again, until lights and sparks streamed into the night.

Not many feet away from him, she halted, realising what he was doing, why he was shaking his head in silent warning-

"Hermione," he whispered, lifting his chin, fixing his eyes into hers. Into her heart and into her soul. She helplessly held his stare as he looked at her for the last time.

His lips kept on moving in murmurs, relentlessly, a blinding light struck into his back with savage force being the end of his silent mantra. He collapsed to the ground-

She jolted awake in a pool of sweat and crumpled sheets, gasping for air. She rubbed her chest with a trembling hand, violent sobs shaking her whole body into a mess.

For the first time on a Christmas morning, Hermione Granger curled up on her bed, crying in sorrow and despair at the memory of her name dying on the lips of Harry Potter with him.

.

* * *

_._

_I hope it's going to snow soon._

I sit cross-legged on the crumpled covers, motionless, staring with my nose in the air at the grey sky I've conjured on the ceiling of my four-poster bed.

My eyes are fixed on the clouds, but I'm not really  _looking_ ; I'm in a daze while too many images run at the front of my mind. Chocolate eyes, chocolate cakes, a freckled nose buried in a book I can't find, and other confused fragments of last night's fuzzy dreams.

When I have enough of my comatose state, I decide to drag myself to the edge of the mattress and glance at Feodor's bed. I frown when I find it empty; I check the hour: 10 am.  _Bugger, I overslept._

I quickly cross the dorm and enter the bathroom to get ready for another absolutely beautiful day.

When I walk into the Common Room ten minutes later, Feodor is sitting on the couch before a crackling fire, eating what I assume is his weekly supply of sweets sent from home.

"Good morning," he greets me.

"'morning," I mutter, running a hand through my damp hair.

I sit on my usual armchair close to the fireplace, yawning.

"Nice tonsils," Feodor grins. I watch absently as he rises to his feet to retrieve something from the Christmas tree in the back of the room. There's a stack of colourful packages and ribbons there-  _Ah, right._

Feodor returns to our corner and hands me a rectangular package wrapped in green paper. "Merry Christmas, Tom."

"I didn't get you anything, Nott," I say, turning over the present in my hands.

Feodor just shrugs, sinking into the couch. "I already have all I need anyway."

Careful not to tear the paper, I open the present and draw out a book. Its cover seems ancient and the binding feels fragile under my touch, as if it would disintegrate at any moment. I smile, my eyes crinkling at the corners.

Here, placed on my lap, is one of the darkest books of all times. Only ten copies of  _The truth of Magick – Beyond the Dark and Light Arts_  by Hereward have ever been printed and seven were destroyed because of the... questionable contents. The whereabouts of the remaining two copies are unknown, but what's certain is that the last one is right here, in my possession.

"Thank you, Feodor," I whisper, touching the embossed inscription with light fingers. "This is... a pleasant surprise."

"You are welcome," he replies, shoving a chocolate frog in his mouth before it can jump away. "Care for a game of chess?"

Unusually happy for the first time in days, I scoot the armchair closer to the coffee table. "Sure."

.

* * *

.

Feodor and I had lunch in the kitchens. The house-elves cooked the most exquisite foods, delighted to finally have guests to serve in their own home.

But at four in the afternoon, the sky looks boringly grey from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library. Feodor went to the owlery a couple of hours ago while I've found refuge in my sanctuary.

The place is deserted, as expected, but its silence is giving me a headache, strangely enough. Or maybe that is given by the lack of information on a relatively powerful Location spell to find and get back my bloody book. For Salazar's sake, I'm not asking that much, am I?

So, let's recapitulate. I put wards on the book because-  _Why couldn't I just take it that day? I could have removed the Summoning Charm on it, it wasn't difficult-_

So, I put Wards on the sodding book, someone removes them-  _how the hell did they-_  and they remove the Summoning Charm, steal the book and put other Wards on it so I can't Summon it myself. Since I've tried doing just that at least thirty times, this must be the only explanation.

Now, what I know is that the book is hidden and that whoever did this can't be an idiot. No, they know the ropes, they must be somehow smart. Smarter than me? Absolutely not. Unpredictable? Yes, that I can concede. But why?

The reason. This may have nothing to do with me, as it's probably the case, or... I cringe at the idea that whoever has stolen the book might know something about my plans. But it's impossible: I haven't talked about it with anyone, I haven't even found the time to ask Slughorn  _the_  question yet. What do I ask him anyway? All the information I had were in Bullock's book.

What I need now is to Locate it. I have the feeling that it's still in the castle, maybe right under my nose.

I quickly browse infinite pages, discarding volume after volume on the desk as soon as I understand that the useless things don't contain what I'm looking for. What exactly am I looking for?

I stop my eyes with unnerving anticipation every time they highlight the words "location", "hidden object", "summon". But every time it's about common spells and when I think I've found a potion that's just the answer to all my problems, this reveals itself to be a cure for love curses and caged hearts.

Resting my forehead on the cool wooden table, dejected, I look at my old but polished black shoes.

_Damn it._

I hear a series of muffled thuds from the back of the library, but I ignore them. It's probably Madam Rabnott, the librarian, pulling out misplaced books-

"Bloody hell!"

Disconcerted, I whip my head up when a voice that definitely doesn't belong to Madam Rabnott breaks the silence. I get up from the chair and near the bookshelves.

"Shite- Bloody hell!"

Peering out the gap between two big books on the shelf, I smirk at the sight of one Hermione Granger sitting on the other side, red-faced and snorting while she tosses book after book on the desk. It appears that I'm not the only one having an unproductive day here.

Stepping around the bookcase, I noiselessly approach the Ravenclaw girl, telling myself that I'm doing this for one sole reason and that, the moment I'll satisfy my slight interest in uncovering the secrets behind her dull eyes, I'll leave her alone and go back to ignoring her. Not that I've ever ignored her before now. You can't ignore someone you can't see. How can someone like her remain unseen-

"Bloody-" Granger bangs her head with an old tome. "Admit it, you are royally fucked."

"Yes, you are," I whisper in her right ear. I place my hands on the desk on either side of her.

I realise too late that I'm unconsciously caging her.

"Wha!" Granger screams and pushes back her chair right into my stomach.

The blow knocks the wind out of me. I lose my sight in pain for several seconds, clenching my abdomen.

"Oh bloomin' heck, Riddle!"

I wait for the pain to subside before trying to straighten up again, but I can't hold back a sharp intake when my ribs protest in agony.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry!" Granger cries, laying a hand on my arm. "You alright?"

Now is the time when the desire to torture the girl into next century should kick in, but there's no shadow of it in my mind.

I nod with a bitter smile. "Not really, but guess I asked for it."

I stare down at Granger. Looking into her big chocolate eyes, I catch a series of mixed feelings crossing her face. I frown when she quickly removes her hand from my sleeve as if struck by an electric shock. I decide to let it go for the moment.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, the hint of a scowl ruining her pretty features once more.

Leaning casually on the edge of the table, I cross my arms over my chest. "Not that's any of your business, Miss Granger, but I'm here to find comfort in the written arts on this boring day. As you are doing, it seems."

I peek at the books scattered all over the desk and pick up the closest.

" _Advanced Rune Translations,_ " I read. Looking back at the desk, I notice that all the volumes are about ancient runes.

"For an essay," Granger jerks out, her tone defensive. Of course I don't point out that I haven't even asked anything yet, but I see that she's just realised her mistake anyway.  _Interesting_.

"I didn't see you at lunch," the Ravenclaw observes after a moment of silence.

"Again, not that you should care," I say, tossing aside  _Advanced Rune Translations,_  "but I had lunch in the kitchens with Feodor. He had the opportunity to eat the double than usual, you see. The house-elves were just thrilled to have us."

I honestly don't know why I'm telling her this. Granger's scowl deepens.

"If by 'have'," she starts acidly, "you mean 'serve us like slaves while we order them around', then I can imagine how thrilled they were."

 _I see..._ so the girl thinks I'm a sort of Abraxas Malfoy.

"Well, Miss Granger," I say, pushing myself off the table, "that's their role. We command, they execute. It's in our social order-

" _Your_ social order," she snaps, crossing her arms, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I won't ever consider myself in such a hierarchy made of dumb, conceited pure-bloods who can't move their lordly arses from their sodding thrones of opportunistic laws to save their lives."

"My, my, you do have a clear opinion about this world. But they like their work. Actually love it. How do you explain that?"

"They were brainwashed!" Granger fires back indignantly. "By wizards! And I know what you are going to say, so shut it! You think they are weak creatures, not by magic, but by will, and that's why they weren't able to fight wizards to begin with. But that doesn't justify the cruel act of enslaving them because that just shows how wizards are despicable humans ready to-"

"You are right," I say softly.

"-take away others' freedom only to have unnecessary pow- What?"

Stopping mid-speech, Granger widens her eyes, her mouth hanging open unattractively.

"I said you are right," I repeat slowly, articulating each word with emphasis. "Wizards can't be justified for their actions towards house-elves."

"B-but," Granger stutters, "you've just said- that it's their role, our social order..."

"I have," I confirm with a nod. "But I haven't said that I also share our society's views. Because I don't."

"But-"

"You assumed, Miss Granger," I interrupt her again. "You assumed that I'm another dumb, conceited wizard who orders elves around, but I'm not. You take for granted that I treat house-elves like slaves only because I come from the House of pure-bloods."

"Riddle isn't a pure-blood family name though."

I arch an eyebrow. I didn't see this coming; it's quite obvious that I have no pure-blood name, but no one has ever commented on it. Not since second year at least.

"Granger isn't either and I don't see that many Muggle-borns in Ravenclaw," I counter darkly.

"I may be a half-blood."

I take a step closer to the bushy head. Cocking my head to the side, I smile, "Touchè."

Granger's cheeks are still flushed from our earlier discussion, her hair is bigger than ever, almost standing on its own will like a medusa - but with a certain subtle elegance. The aura coming off her is thick with something I've never perceived from other people and it almost collides with mine. It's close to my magic but it's too distant to touch.

"So, what are you?" I ask, staring down at her. "Are you a half-blood?"

I'm unprepared when she looks up with emotionless eyes. Her whisper is cold but unpleasantly clear.

"I'm a Mudblood."

.

* * *

_._

_Mudblood. Mudblood._

_She says she's a Mudblood._

If her voice hadn't been so glacial, I could have caught hatred in her words, memories of psychological pain or... something else. Something worse.

How much I'm imagining what Granger might be hiding about her past is unhealthy for my temples.

 _Mudblood._  They used to call me that too, before third year. I was bullied for being the only half-blood in the House of Slytherin. When things got out of hand, I had to show people that Tom Riddle wasn't a simple Mudblood. No, he's much more powerful than his peers, much more adept at the magical arts than all the adults of the castle – except Dumbledore.

I started using it too, the word, Mudblood, so classmates could start looking up to me. They stopped sneering when I walked through the corridors, they stopped laughing while bumping into my shoulders. They stopped beating me. The roles reversed.

I abandoned all my weaknesses and started acting like a true Slytherin- but I still kept the perfect façade in place. Students started smiling at me; girls desired me, guys envied me. And a few elected started fearing and serving me.

But the way Granger said it...  _Mudblood._

The tone of her voice makes me think that she  _knows_ she's one. She told me that she doesn't share most of our society's views, yet she accepts one of it, the most loathed. Or maybe she doesn't.

Maybe she said what she expected me to call her after discovering that she's Muggle-born.

I'm sitting at my usual table in the library; Granger left hours ago.

I've lost track of time while going over another series of useless books; the sky is already dark outside.

" _Tempus,_ " I say with a lazy movement of my wand. Dinner starts in fifteen minutes.

_Mudblood._

It sounds wrong on her lips. She's a Mudblood, she can't change it, but  _her_ saying it... it feels just wrong.

I'm so absorbed in the pointless train of thoughts that I close the last book that may have the answer to all my problems with a dusty thump. That's what one word has done to me.

I get up and send all the volumes back to their bookshelves. I look out the tall windows again: the sky is grey and cold, still empty of white dots. Walking out of the library, I think that it doesn't feel like Christmas at all when you're still waiting for the snow to fall.

.

* * *

.

At dinner, Granger is someone I've never met. Her face is constantly illuminated by a smile, her voice broken only by warm laughs while talking animatedly with Feodor and Clearwater. The whole table is busy in cheery conversations, a noise that I try to listen to instead of isolating myself from it like usual - only to not acknowledge Granger's near voice. Her bright demeanour is irritating me: it sounds too real for my taste. The problem is that, if it isn't, I have to admit that she's a bloody good actress.

"Seriously, Granger," Feodor is saying, "You aren't as boring as the other Ravenclaws. I should have introduced myself ages ago."

"Why, thank you Nott," Evelyn says, glaring at the boy.

He laughs, holding up his hands. "Sorry Clearwater, but you  _are_  boring."

"Look who's talking!" she retorts hotly. "You are the one who lives in the Astronomy Tower. For Merlin's sake, I could jump from it in boredom."

"At least I don't spend my life in the library like you do. Believe it or not, I have a social life."

"Sure you do, you just hang out with constellations... Who tells you that I don't have a social life, anyway?"

Feodor shrugs. "Haven't seen you an awful lot with your friends. If you have friends."

Evelyn narrows her eyes in suspicion. "Have you been stalking me, Nott?"

"Stalking? Are you that self-centred, Clearwater?"

"You stupid... Slytherin."

"Ouch," Feodor clenches his chest. "No one has ever called me stupid before."

I swear I tried my best to ignore Granger, but when desserts appear on the table, a similar scene to the one of the other day catches my whole attention. Granger throws herself on the pudding like a bear on honey.

Sighing, I serve myself of pumpkin cake. I almost choke on the fork when I think I hear a weird contented noise coming from the Ravenclaw girl.

"The pudding doesn't run away, Granger, you can slow down," Nott says, amused at the sight of Granger having spoonfuls of sweet stuff at non-human speed.

The bushy head literally cleans her plate before dabbing her mouth with the napkin. She smiles. "Sorry, but I haven't eaten sweet food for ages."

"Two months of dinners at Hogwarts and you haven't had enough?"

Evelyn shakes her head, her eyes distant. "You should have seen her eating when she arrived. She devoured every single plate on our table during the first week, I swear."

Granger shoots her friend a withering look. "That's so not true."

"Why?" The question pushes past my lips before I can stop myself.

The brunette lifts her gaze but doesn't really meet my eyes. "Why what?"

"Why couldn't you eat sweet food?" I ask again. "I'm curious."

Feodor pushes away his third plate of chocolate cake and looks at Granger. "Right, why?"

The girl clears her throat, thinking over what to say.

"I've been through a difficult time the past year," she starts cautiously, lowering her eyes. Evelyn places a comforting hand on Granger's elbow.

"The war?" Feodor whispers- not for his voice might betray his emotions, but simply because there are people around, and everyone knows: at Hogwarts even the walls have ears.

With a stiff nod, Granger looks up again.

"But now I'm safe," she says softly. "And-"

We all frown when Granger tilts her head towards the ceiling. She stays motionless for an instant, her eyes wide; when she looks at us again, a small grin brightens her face.

"It's snowing!" she exclaims, clapping her hands in excitement.

"What-" Evelyn looks up in confusion and then gasps, "Oh!"

The girls' eyes light up with glee as small, candid snowflakes fall from the ceiling of the Great Hall, gently swaying in perfect circles only to fade before they can touch our shoulders.

All of a sudden, an irritating sound of chairs scraping on the floor interrupts the surreal and idiotic scene of Feodor, Clearwater, and Granger staring in awe at the fake snow.

I shift my eyes to the end of the table where most of the professors and the few other students are getting up from their seats.

"Snowball fight in the courtyard!" announces Dumbledore.  _What the f-_  "In five minutes!"

The two first years immediately run off towards the entrance, followed by many teachers (the youngest led by the redhead coot), while the third-year boy from Ravenclaw walks up to us, smiling mischievously at Granger and Clearwater.

"Oh, wipe that smirk off your face," Clearwater threatens, standing up as well. "I'm going to get back for that prank you and Lovegood set last week, Davies!"

After Evelyn disappears behind the oak door, Granger and Feodor share an odd look, pushing back their chairs at the same time.

It's when I think that everyone is abandoning the Great Hall, leaving me behind to my solitude, that I feel both my arms being pulled forward.

_No way in hell._

"You two," I protest, trying to yank my arms back from Feodor and Granger's tight grip, "let go of me this instant. Nott, if you don't-"

"Oh, come on Riddle," Granger sings airily, letting go of my arm. "You can't spend Christmas holed up in the library!"

I forget all my objections when the bushy head flashes me a smile.

One step closer to her is one step closer to her secrets, I tell myself.

.

* * *

.

I've never heard Clearwater laugh so hard. She's usually quiet and shy, much like Feodor, but now she's worse than a hurricane, running to the back of the enemies with a handful of snow to be shoved over their heads.

Feodor is having fun like Satan whipping the damned as well. I never thought he could have fun without books and telescopes, let alone plan pranks, but he turns out to be a real strategist.

Granger, however, is another story. She's the most creative and evil creature on the battlefield. The official rule is "no wands", but the mystery-girl is actually using non-verbals, hiding the stick behind her back when attacking her enemies with shitloads of snow.

The only player who isn't really playing is me. I'm supposed to take the females by surprise – the enemy – like Feodor is doing, but what I limit myself to do is quietly follow the other Slytherin around.

This reminds me of the summers and winters spent at the orphanage, when the children always came up with boys-against-girls games, and we were supposed to make the girls jump, run after them with a squirming worm in our hands, or simply try to take a look up their skirts while tree climbing.

Not that I enjoyed those stupid contests.

Or maybe I did.

I did smile at six years old, winning all the hide-and-seek games because I was good at hiding and the best at running fast to save everyone. I laughed when the boys and I searched the little garden of the institute for insects to show the girls, or when we used to jump in and out of abandoned tyres and always ended up with scorched legs because the rubber was hot under the sun.

But the older I got, the more distance I had to put between them and me. At eight I started preferring to stay inside and look at the few picture books we had rather than enjoy the sunny afternoons with the other children, and at nine no one even remembered I had played outside with the others once- carefree, laughing and living.

At ten I was the lonely boy who had taught himself to write and read and had never played one game of tug of war, or Jinx during supper, in his whole life.

No one didn't bother to ask why. But I knew, I remembered, I do even now- how I hadn't liked it when the girls had suddenly decided to run away from me and rat me out to Mrs Cole for showing them the snakes of the garden, or when, playing, the other boys had pushed me to the ground and stood over me, sneering – because whenever something like that had happened, always an accident had followed. Once back on my feet, that one time, I remember they didn't laugh, but I did, proud I wasn't giving them any satisfaction of seeing me kneeling in the mud.

"Come on Tom," Feodor starts again, crouching behind a low wall while I stand behind a column, distant from the heart of the battle, "you should throw a little ball in  _his_  general direction. It will be fun!"

"Yes," I snort loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose, "so he can have a reason to expel me for good this time."

The sight of Dumbledore hurling snowballs at the ladies is sickening and I sniff the use of wandless magic when the snow  _accidentally_  explodes into water on Granger and Clearwater's heads even from here. I thank Morgana I'm not the one under a bucket of ice-cold water.

I hear Granger laugh, pulling away the neck of her wet jumper. "Professor, that wasn't fair!"

"If something goes wrong, I'll say it was me," Feodor offers, sparing me a glance before looking back at the girls getting their revenge on Dumbledore and Professor Noel.

I mull over the idea of freezing the Transfiguration professor's face with a well-placed shot. Crouching next to Feodor, I think  _yes, why not, he's the one who has conjured this little fight after all, so,_  "yes, Nott, I think I will- Ppffooo!"

It's painful and cold and it tastes bad, very bad.

The moment I lift my head over the wall, the ball hits my nose, not too hard, but the snow manages to enter my mouth and my nostrils.  _What the hell._

I spit, shooting daggers at Feodor, who is restraining himself from rolling over with laughter.

"Fucking hell," I growl, drawing out my wand to dry my sweater. I'm immediately on my feet, scanning the courtyard for the culprit- until my eyes stumble upon a smug Clearwater, another snowball readily held in her gloved hand.

I squint at the girl, my wand inconspicuously moving at my side. If Evelyn Clearwater thinks she can make me play this stupid game, I won't be the one to prove her wrong.

.

* * *

.

It doesn't matter how many times Clearwater is asking me, I will never admit I had fun this evening. Not that I really had, obviously. I decided to play along only to kill time since standing beside Feodor as he planned the end of the world was getting boring.

In the end no one really won; to say it better, we all had to leave the battlefield when Dippet made an appearance. Red-faced in annoyance, the old man sent us to our dorms while the professors had to stay behind and put up with another of the headmaster's long and monotonous speeches as to why kids can't shove snow down each other's throats on school ground.

 _I'm sure that the teachers are saving Dumbledore's arse anyway. It may have been his idea, the snow war, but the others followed him like idiots_ – that's what I think while ambling down the corridor with Feodor, Clearwater, and Granger.

"That was so fun," Evelyn sighs, walking in front of us. "I wish Dippet was as laid back as Dumbledore. Really, I love the man."

Feodor makes a gagging noise and I roll my eyes. Of course everyone here loves saint Dumbledore.

Evelyn spins around, struck by an idea. "Why don't we all go to Hogsmeade tomorrow? We should get out of the castle now that the kids are away."

"Hmm," Feodor nods slowly, considering it. "Sure, I'm in."

"Me too," Granger assents, yawning. She's dragging herself behind her classmate, exhausted after two hours of running across the courtyard and dashing behind columns. "I will let Davies know. We won't hear the end of it if we go without him."

Clearwater smiles happily before turning her eyes on me. "What about you, Tom?"

I shrug, "Okay." I don't have anything better to do anyway. My book is gone.

"Splendid!"

I think I feel Granger's nervous stare on the side of my face for a moment, but when I look at her, her expression is unreadable.

"I can't wait for tomorrow," Evelyn blabbers on with dreamy eyes- and to think that not many days ago she couldn't even shove off stupid Charlus Potter. It's like Hermione Granger has brought a new side of the girl to the surface. A very talkative and annoying side, unfortunately. "I want to go to  _Zonko_ 's, I have a  _crave_  for Sugar Quills-"

"-must be up the duff then," Feodor mutters under his breath.

"-and I can bet all my galleons that Hermione needs to strip  _Honeydukes_  for-"

"Bloody hell!"

Startled, Evelyn, Feodor, and I turn around when a yelp makes us jump. During Clearwater's incessant ranting, Granger must have fallen behind for now the girl's standing firmly on the spot, trying to twist her torso and waving her arms as if they were the wings of a mad hippogriff.

"Bloody hell," she cries again, blowing wild curls out of her face.

"What's wrong, Granger?" Feodor asks with a tint of concern in his voice. He walks back to the bushy head, "What's- bloody hell."

Following Feodor's eyes, we all lift our heads to the ceiling.

Clearwater breaks in evil giggles the moment sprigs of white mistletoe merrily grow over Granger's head. "Oh my, guess the worst kind got you, Hermione dear."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the little cliffhanger - or maybe I don't.
> 
> Here's something interesting: the snowball fight was inspired by a real snowball fight. I had this crazy teacher back in high school who believed herself more of a student than a real adult, Merlin bless her, and she started an amazing fight in the courtyard. That's until the principal showed up and ruined the fun. Ah, the good times...
> 
> Anyway, this story will pick up a much better pace with the next chapter, I promise. Chapter 3 will further define the plot.
> 
> And yes, I'm writing more scenes from Hermione's POV from now on because there are too many blanks to fill, especially about her past. But dropping hints is my hobby, so, please, bear with it. You will thank me in the end, you'll see.
> 
> I don't mind telling you that we will even see more of Harry Potter in the future. He's the main character of JK Ro's series after all.
> 
> Reviews encourage me to keep writing, so they are very welcome! (:
> 
> I don't mind telling you that we will even see more of Harry Potter in the future. He is the main character of J K's series after all.
> 
> Reviews encourage me to keep writing, so they are very welcome! (:


	4. Chapter 3 - Killer

 

Christmas. The perfect chance for girls.

They can receive expensive presents from their boyfriends, they can eat how much they want and 'forget' about diets with a ready-to-use excuse - "Well, I can't waste the food the house-elves have worked so hard for! I don't want to insult them!" - and, of course, their chances to kiss Prince Charming rise exponentially as the castle gets infested with mistletoe.

Christmas' period is when boys have to dodge the loathed plant like a curse in order to avoid being rooted to the ground in front of a giggling female ready for the assault.

Unfortunately, there are more species of mistletoe. The classic waits patiently to trap two subjects (humans most of the time) and let them go once they kiss, while the chaser, one relatively new idea of prank, follows the victim wherever they go, pounding on their head continuously until they don't lip-lock with someone, and, at last, there's this type of mistletoe that just fixes the unsuspecting prey to the ground until somebody doesn't save them with their mouth - quite literally. These last particular sprigs can turn out to be quite troublesome if one's walking down a deserted corridor: the student, or teacher (sometimes a ghost too), might have to wait hours to get rescued.

The worst kind, as Clearwater says, is  _this_  mistletoe.

"Well..." Feodor says, backing away from Granger, his hands held in front of him.

Evelyn laughs when the furious victim makes to reach for her wand.

"No need for that, Hermione, fire won't work on this one," she grins, eyeing the seemingly innocent plant. "My cousin works at  _Zonko_ 's and he made sure of that. No charm or curse can affect it."

"Next time I see your cousin..." Granger grits out with a promise, eyes narrowed at Evelyn, who's on the verge of exploding into fat laughter again.

Through the windows of the corridor I look at the sky darkening over the castle, not the wink of a star to interrupt the almost black blanket of clouds. I turn my gaze to the others.

"How long do we want to stay here?" I make sure it's clear that I'm not planning to linger one second more in this cold corridor, and Evelyn and Feodor seem to understand- why else would they be silently staring back at me?

"What?" I ask irritated.

The two look at each other for two long seconds, as if they're having a telepathic conversation or something-

"Erm," Granger clears her throat, drawing deserved attention back on herself, "yes, I'm still here. I would have loved going to the kitchens for tea and come back in the meanwhile, but, sadly, I'm still. Effing. Right. Here."

"R-right," Feodor nods awkwardly, taking a slow step towards Granger. Maybe it's the late hour, maybe I've been distracted for the past minutes, or probably I'm just tired, but I realise only now what Feodor is about to do.

Unwanted and uncalled for, a beast rises in my chest, hissing, and I have the inexplicable urge to stop Feodor, but I don't move. There's no need anyway.

"Can't you be more pathetic, Nott?" Evelyn grumbles, walking past Feodor and shoving him out of the way in the process. She quickly seizes Granger's chin and brings her face close to hers-

"What the hell!" Feodor sprints forwards and grabs Clearwater by the shoulders just in time. "You can't kiss Granger!"

The blonde frowns, straightening her shirt on the shoulders. "Why not?"

Feodor gapes at her for a few moments, astonishment written all over his face. When he finally finds words, his voice doesn't sound quite normal to me, "We are in school! What if someone sees-"

"So you say that boys and girls can snog wherever they want but two girls can't?" Evelyn cuts him short, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

"Y-yes- No, I mean..."

He's clearly at a loss for words. And so am I. Granger, though, she's quietly laughing, her eyes darting between Feodor and Clearwater in amusement.

She smiles, "I think you were born in the wrong era, my friend."

Evelyn crosses her arms over her chest and pouts, stomping her foot like a Gryffindor who has just lost a Quidditch game. "That's definitely true, but you are still trapped here, Granger."

Granger shrugs, still smiling, showing a set of white, perfect teeth even in the feeble light of the torches. "I wouldn't have minded that kiss, actually-"

"Good Morgana", Feodor mumbles inaudibly, his eyes glued to the toes of his dragonhide boots.

"-but Feodor is right..."

Evelyn interrupts her friend with a clap of her hands, struck by an idea.

"Oh my," she breathes, smiling in that way girls smile when planning something that, I can tell, is going to be just evil. Granger seems to think the same; her forehead gradually falls into a scowl. "I may know someone who would be absolutely  _thrilled_  for the opportunity to save our princess-"

The two Ravenclaws squint at each other. Granger's dark glare dares Evelyn to continue. She does.

"Why don't we call profes-"

"Why don't you shut up and go call Davies instead!" Granger snaps. I don't fail to notice that her voice is higher than normal and her face more flushed than ever. It's actually the first time I see her face display something different than fake joy, weak happiness, or open indifference-

It happens before I can control it. All sense of logic leaves my brain the moment Evelyn turns around to call the Davies boy.

I take out my wand and train it on the candid mistletoe.

I don't utter a word.

I don't I blink but just stare indifferently at the dying sprigs, falling on the floor in a black shower of dust.

.

* * *

.

Granger's eyes were wide with something not far from horror. She knows the spell I used to destroy the harmless plant, she knows how dark it is. I could read it in her eyes. The memory has been doing things to my stomach since yesterday. It haunted my sleep and then made me toss and turn in my bed over and over again until dawn, when I finally fell in a deep, dreamless slumber.

I was tired, that's all. I wanted to go back to the dormitories, but someone had to solve the mistletoe problem in order to do that... that's all. So I had to use a dark spell, that's- I didn't care if Clearwater was going to call that Ravenclaw boy, I wouldn't have cared, she's only a Mudblood, she could have kissed Clearwater or Nott for all I care-

_Liar._

The beast hisses again, his tail knocking against my rib cage, his eyes violating and baring my soul. I do my best to not acknowledge the presence of this creature. Nor his green eyes.

But the annoying feeling of last night returns in armies the moment I catch Granger's eyes this morning, sitting a couple of seats away from me, next to Dumbledore, before she hastily glances away.

_I don't care I don't care She's not my friend_

That's how I spend most of the morning, talking to myself, straining my brain to instill a sense of indifference into my whole being.

I spend a few hours in the library out of habit, skip lunch, and read some more. At last I have to reluctantly check the hour, sighing when I see that it's time to abandon the warmth of the books and go out in the cold, grey afternoon.

Pocketing the watch back in my blazer, I gather up my things and walk out of my sanctuary. Feodor is indeed already waiting for me by the heavy oak doors of the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, brooding over the feminine giggles that sharply cut the silence from outside. He rolls his eyes, watching disinterestedly as Granger, Clearwater, and Davies wave their wands to dump snow on each other's heads.

"If I didn't know better, I would say there are Hufflepuff first-years out there," I comment, making my presence known.

Feodor readily pushes off of the door.

"Thank Salazar you are here," he says in relief, "this sight was boring at first, but after ten minutes it gets sickening."

I can't agree more, but I say nothing while I slip my already icy cold hands into a pair of gloves and stride out of the door without so much as a second glance towards the Ravenclaws playing in the yard.

When we arrive in Hogsmeade, the landscape greeting us is one of a lovely snow-kissed village ready for the postcard. People are chatting merrily in the small square, owls and other birds shuttling between the sky and the post office, and the echo of vulgar songs mingles with that of Christmas carols in the air, coming out from the pubs and other shops.

The shop windows are glowing with products and decorations, mostly holly wreaths, and the owners invite us passersby in to try their new goods.

"Care for a butterbeer?" Clearwater asks when we reach the  _Three Broomsticks_. "I know I want one."

From the corner of my eye, I catch Granger ogling at  _Tomes and Scrolls_ ' window stuffed with new and classic books, but Davies exclaims eagerly, "I want one too!"

Tearing her gaze from the shop window, Granger nods, the mention of a small smile at the corners of her lips. "Sure, let's have a drink and get warm. We can go shopping later, so we don't have to carry the bags around the whole time."

Everyone agrees before entering the pub, only to find it warm but already packed.

"There must be a free table..." Clearwater prays, craning her neck to see over the horde of customers. "Oh, come on-"

"Found," Nott announces after a quick survey of the local, his considerable height a clear advantage in such situations. He leads us to a filthy but quiet table in the farthest corner, under the window and close to a table where three drunk old witches are half murmuring and half laughing hysterically over their Dragon Brandy. One winks lasciviously at me when I walk past her.

Nott, Clearwater, and Davies sit down under the window, facing the room and, with much displeasure, I have to take a seat across from them- next to Granger.

The resolution of ignoring her shatters as soon as the girl incidentally brushes my arm in order to pull off her coat.

"Sorry," she says, her eyes avoiding mine as she taps her fingers on the table. I would do anything to go back on time and cancel that damn mistletoe-incident, so things wouldn't be this awkward now. I had the feeling that, after the snow battle, Granger was somehow warming up to me, having herself dragged me out of the Great Hall to play.

It shouldn't bother me- the fact that I fucked it up. It's not like I want to be her friend or something. I just want to discover those secrets I know she's keeping from everyone.

She can disappear or die or whatever after that, I don't really care.

But the back of my mind doesn't want to collaborate on the intent of keeping the bushy head out of my bloody mental shields. In a moment of madness, while Evelyn and Feodor are bickering again, the projection that appears before my eyes is a replica of yesterday's scene, back in the corridor, where Granger is under the mistletoe, her chocolate eyes wide and fixed in mine. The mistletoe is whispering joy when a sweet sound lifts its spell, a sound that comes from under its arms, welcome, soft, tentative-

"That's Firewhisky."

Sighing in relief, I lift my eyes on Davies. The boy is looking at a dark, weedy guy sitting at the counter, knocking back a glass of amber liquid. After contemplating the drink in the stranger's hands for several seconds, the third-year boy grins, "I want to drink Firewhisky!"

"Sorry mate, you're under my supervision today. The strongest you can have here is pumpkin juice," Feodor tells him seriously before glancing at the approaching young barmaid.

"What can I get you?" the girl asks in a bored tone, her eyes rolling over our faces. Feodor smiles charmingly when she reaches him. She blinks.

"Four butterbeers and a pump-" he starts replying, but Davies interrupts him with a fist on the table and an indignant, "Hey!"

Feodor chuckles, "Right, sorry. I mean five butterbeers, please. It's on me."

The girl, unmoving, blinks again at the money waiting in Feodor's hand, and for a moment I think that mistletoe is infesting the  _Three Broomsticks_  as well. The ceiling is empty though, except for a few cobwebs and mildew stains.

Clearwater loudly clears her throat, making the girl snap back to her senses, grab the money, and stagger away through the smoky air of the pub.

A few quiet seconds pass, then-

"Ouch!"

Feodor yelps and a muffled sound follows when he hits the bottom of the table with his knee, making the ashtrays and napkin holder rattle dangerously.

"What was that for?" he asks in disbelief, squinting at Clearwater through his tears.

She merely shrugs, clearly fighting to keep a smirk off her face. "There was an ugly spider on your foot."

"And how the hell did you see it-"

Fortunately, Feodor's resentment is punctuated by the arrival of our butterbeers, brought over by the owner of the pub, a tall and large man with a gentle smile that one wouldn't guess on a rough face like his.

The girl of earlier is probably terrified to serve our table. True enough, Evelyn's gaze slides past Granger's shoulders: she appears strangely pleased by whatever she's looking at.

I quietly sip my butterbeer, lifting my eyes from time to time when Feodor steals glances at Evelyn, confusion and astonishment crossing his face.

"Something's wrong?" the blonde asks when she catches him looking sideways at her for possibly the tenth time in two minutes.

"'Course not," he mutters, returning to his pint.

"When are we going to  _Zonko_ 's?" Davies asks to no one in particular.

"As soon as we get out of here, I guess," Feodor replies, leaning back on the bench. "But I want to go to the bookshop first."

Davies turns to look at Clearwater. He's about to ask something but I suddenly lose the ability to hear. Actually, for a moment, I lose all senses but touch. I feel my body still. Granger seems to have the same reaction when our legs brush under the table. I swallow an electric wave of shock but I manage to keep my stoic mask in place. I immediately move my legs closer to the wall.

I'm aware of her stare on me. I let a couple of seconds pass before swinging my head to the left.

She gives me a sheepish smile.

I forget that she's not supposed to be my friend when I give her a lopsided smile of my own.

.

* * *

.

The sun, or at least its few cold rays, have already disappeared and snow is falling yet again from the dark sky. I'm strolling through the bookshelves on the second floor of  _Tomes and Scrolls_ , looking for nothing in particular since I already know that I won't find a reading that might even remotely help me out with the stolen Bullock's book – in this place, at least.

I left Granger on the first floor half an hour ago in the Runes section while Feodor, Clearwater, and Davies went to  _Zonko_ 's and  _Honeydukes_.

Closing another plain book about the dangers of Legilimency, I walk to the banister, peering down at the bushy head leaning against a bookshelf, just under my nose, intent on reading a thick volume covered in ancient runes.

I haven't really looked at her the whole day, except for that stolen moment in the pub. Now that I have the chance to do so without being discovered by those three busybodies – yes, Nott as well – who would surely jump to conclusions if they were to see me stare at Granger, I take it.

It's not like I'm doing anything illegal – not that I've ever cared about that in the past either – but I can't help the feeling that I'm trying to look at something it's not meant to be discovered, not by me; it's as if my eyes are prying into those of a rare creature that is going to fade away before I can take it in, as if my greedy claws are dying to enter her mind and see and feast on what's inside. As if it would be a sin. The beast within my chest purrs at the thought.

I observe Granger for a while, lost in my perverse train of thoughts, until a deafening sound forces me back to earth.

High-pitched screams ring from outside.

"Run!"

It happens all too fast.

"It's them!"

First, Granger is there, letting the book fall on the floor, and then she's dashing out of the shop, wand already in hand.

I storm after her without thinking, screams and growls slashing the air from the little square of the village.

_What's happening?! Fuck, who are them? What are they doing?_

I realise how many people are in Hogsmeade only when I see them all streaming into the shops for shelter, jolting me backwards while I try to catch a glimpse of a familiar bushy head. But it's too dark and I can't see-

"What are you doing, son? Go hide!"

Someone grasps me by the collar, trying to push me back in the bookshop, but I roughly remove his callous hand from me, blindly darting forward. Shoving witches and wizards away, I finally stumble in the clear, a blurred hint of curly hair moving not far from me. I halt when an ominous sound whistles close to my ear, colliding with a well into red sparks. A curse.

Then another, this time well aimed in my direction.

The seconds seem to decelerate, the span of time in which I hurriedly point my wand before me and growl, " _Protego Horribilis_!"

The rebound almost knocks me back on my arse, but I dig in my heels, ready to return the dark curse to the bastard who had the nerve to cast it.

I see him. He's a hooded man, tall, clothed in black leather. He's turning away from me, probably certain that I'm out of the game, the arrogant bastard.

He's moving swiftly, like a shadow, shooting curses and promptly shielding himself from-

Granger.

I don't have the time to watch Granger duel with the hooded man because others are running through the village, other men and women, cursing those within reach-

" _Avada kedavra_."

And killing. Cursing and killing.

_Fuck fuck fuck_

" _Avada_ -"

" _Reducto_!"

I don't pause to see the well explode and a brick crush the stranger's head into a gush of blood.

I run, Stunning as many enemies I can get on my path. Stunning, not killing. It seems that my head has made the decision before having the chance to consider the pros and cons of leaving these arseholes unconscious but alive.

A flash of light flies over my head, smashing the window of a shop. I swing around to face the caster. I don't give him the time to raise his blasted wand. I bring him down without so much as a thought, red sparks dazzling towards his chest.

His hood falls with him, exposing a blond head and a crooked nose.

"Tom, behind you!"

I'm ready when I twist around, but a well aimed body-bind curse precedes me, pushing back the man onto the snow.

I look back at Clearwater, wand fisted in her white-knuckled hand, thin bloody gashes torn open on her cheeks and dark blood soaking through the sleeves of her sweater.

"Don't thank me," she says marching towards me, Feodor and Davies following closely behind. "I saw you cursing the hell out of these cowards. You were brilliant, Riddle. But who the feck do these guys think they are! Attack Hogsmeade on Boxing Day-"

But Evelyn doesn't finish her rant when a gasp leaves her lips. She pales, taking in the sight of the bodies scattered on the snow. I register the fact only now too.

Men, women... and children. Dead.

Too many.

Evelyn covers her mouth with a quivering hand. "Why?"

The same question is painted on Feodor and Davies' faces.

_Why?_

Feodor, his face ashen, turns his back to us and raises his wand. "Be ready. We are still in the middle of a battle."

"And not a snow one," whispers Davies, trembling like a leaf.

I look down at him before turning my back like Feodor. Davies and Clearwater do the same.

I study the square. There's no one around us any more. I haven't counted the fallen enemies, but I think I saw a considerable number still on their feet. They can't have disappeared in the shadows... can they?  _Where are you Where are you_

"Don't worry, Zaiden," I say quietly, my eyes searching through the darkness of the evening. Granger is nowhere to be seen and so is the first hooded man. I have a bad feeling about him. "Stay close to me so I can Shield you. If I tell you to run, though..."

"I run," he finishes. "I won't play the hero."

"Good."

Shoulder against shoulder, we all face the suddenly quiet village and produce a collective, strong shield.

It's too dark. The usual light coming through the shops is out. Only the sound of our laboured breathing can be heard; if I listen hard, I can even hear the tense whispers of the villagers hiding. But from the attackers, not a mention, no footfalls, no hushed orders to kill us.

Crisp snow is dancing in the air- surreal. This is surreal. Blood taints the candid ground, taunting, the fresh evidence of the depravity just witnessed. Bodies are lying all around us, motionless and still warm, eyes open on the shock that crushed their lives with two single words. So surreal.

"How many of them do you think there are?" Evelyn breathes.

"Many," Feodor replies tersely. "Probably twenty or more."

"Should we-"

"Kill them? No. No Unforgivables."

A couple of heartbeats of silence pass before Evelyn breaks the silence again.

"Nott?" she calls, her voice lowered to a sough of fear.

"Hmm."

"I'm sorry I stepped on your foot earlier."

I can't see his face, but I feel his bitter smile.

"You are forgiven, Evelyn," he says softly.

It doesn't matter that we are out, in the complete and most evident open, inhaling humidity. The air starts standing heavy anyway.

And then, they strike.

Wave after wave of red and green lights collide into our protective Shield, a thick invisible wall of wind that seals us off from the menacing group of hooded men that's walking up to us. From all directions.

_Surrounded, we are surrounded._

_A plan, we need a plan. Surely someone from the castle will arrive to help us, they've certainly been warned by now. So, where the fuck are they? Granger, where's- A plan. Focus. We need a plan._

I see it forming in my head like an uncoiling snake.

We have seconds. I feel the shield weakening.

"At my three," I whisper over the noise of the curses, pointing my feet in the ground to keep the Shield in place, the snow so high it's getting into my boots and soaking my pants and socks, "we lift the Shield. Nott, you take the right, mind the windows, keep them facing the centre. Clearwater, you take the left, same warning. Keep them busy."

I pause just a moment to glance at their subtle nods.

"Davies, you stay behind me," I continue. "I take you to  _Zonko_ 's, it's dark there, they won't see, so you can put a Disillusionment Charm on yourself and run to another safe spot.  _Dissimulo_  is the incantation. From there you Stun their backs. Do you know how to do it?"

I hear him swallow, but his voice is resolute. "Yes."

I search for Davies' wrist on my right and seize it, cold and shaking.

"One," I glare at the moving shadows in front of me, "two," and I swear I will make them pay for ruining what was a fucking perfect day – two boy twins lying on the snow, utterly lifeless, not many feet away from me.

" _Three_."

Hell breaks out the moment our Shield explodes into nothing. I shield Davies and me again before dragging him to the shop, crossing the little square with few long strides. I see a dozen pairs of scared eyes looking at me through the darkness, from behind the counter, while I push the boy past the cracked door.

I feel the protective spell weakening on my back, dark curses trying to push through my wall, a cold stream of wind burning my shoulders, my spine.

"Where do you think you are going, kid?"

The voice of the man is nauseating, his thick accent foreign.

I spin around just in time to Stun one, two, three men within the blink of an eye. And a fourth and a fifth go down a breath later. I search Zaiden with my eyes but I don't see him. I shout anyway, "Good job!"

Running to the core of the battle, I assess the situation: the village is wrecked, five men are engaged in duels with both Clearwater and Feodor, five are making old buildings explode either for sport or to uncover the hiding villagers or both, and three are stalking off to the end of the village-

_Oh, no, you don't._

They don't get to Disapparate yet, they must face me first, then their limbs can Vanish to wherever they want to go.

_What do I do? Where's Dippet? Where's fucking Dumbledore? Where the fuck-_

A child.

Time stops and my eyes widen in panic. A boy of three or maybe four years old stands in the middle of a pile of corpses. He looks around, disoriented at first, a blue bump forming on his forehead. Then, his eyes stop on a figure in front of a shop, close, so close to the door; her arms and legs are spread on the snow like a stiff, pale doll.

No. No. Shit.

Horror and fear, that's what I read on his face.

I sprint forward the moment the boy runs right in front of the three men, past them, oblivious of the threat gleaming in their shadowed eyes. "Mama! Mama!"

I can only see their backs, a moving blur of black leather while I run, the arm of one of them raising, the wand I can't see at all clearly pointed, the child freezing like a deer in the headlights-

" _Crucio_."

.

* * *

.

He was fast, too fast. Hermione was tired.

Sweat beaded her forehead and her hair clung uncomfortably to the nape of her neck, but uncomfortable wasn't something she could acknowledge at the moment. All she could do was focus and move: defend, attack, defend.

Her opponent, though... he was moving fluidly just like when they had started, at least thirty minutes before. It felt like hours. His coolness told her he thought the game had just begun.

She had understood that this stranger was different from the others, whoever they were, the moment she had seen him curse an old woman without any apparent motion of his wand. He was stronger than the others, more evil if possible, and he was aiming to kill. No chaos, no explosions, no foreplay. Just death.

That's why she had had to get him away from the villagers, away from her friends. She didn't know if she could finish him off, but she would keep him busy the time necessary for reinforcements to arrive. Because she knew they would arrive, sooner or later.

In the meanwhile, she had acted quickly. She had placed the strongest protective charms around her and the stranger, to keep him far from the innocents... and to keep the other enemies far from them. Only this way she could duel this man. One on one.

Three on one from his part was more likely.

His arsenal counted infinite dark spells, so dark the air was impregnated with their scent, their oppressive aura. Hermione was exhausted, but not one spell had touched her. Not yet. Her movements were getting slower, her reactions lagging.

A couple of minutes- the time left before she would crack and cave.

_Weak, I'm so weak, I can't-_

"Argh!"

Hermione grunted in pain when a powerful curse broke her Shield, gashing the skin of her leg. It stung, but there was no time to consider the wound. A jet of curses shook her into action again when she was a waft away from death.

She cried spell after spell in her head, adamant that she wouldn't voice them despite the physical need to scream. A mistake like that could cost her life.

But, maybe... maybe a mistake wouldn't be the end of her life at all. The man in front of her would.

_No. No. I'm not weak. I will get through this._

For a split second, Hermione thought that the man was smirking under his hood, but an instant later the curses came back more lethal than before.

"You," he snarled with another slash of his wand, ropes of flames starting from it into a tornado of red lights, "won't stand for longer, little girl."

Hermione blocked the ropes with difficulty and she had to dash behind a low wall, crouching, when a wave of electric blue lights followed immediately the former curse. She lifted her arms to cover her head when the spell crushed into the wall, sending dust of bricks all around her.

No time to think, Hermione stood, her eyes narrowed to slits to regard the man before her with pure hatred, as if unaware that seconds ago that dust could have been her head.

"You won't either," she spat. "You may be stronger, but you will get tired at some point."

The man smiled a wicked smile. He tilted his head slightly and lowered his wand. He began moving.

He was circling her, appraising her. Hermione shuddered as once again she felt like a prey.

They were on the margin of the village, in that remote corner of the street leading to the Shrieking Shack – or the place where they would build the house in the future.

So much time had passed, the sense of it fogged as the duel had shredded Hermione of all her energies, that she hadn't noticed the lack of snowflakes in the air. Silence greeted her ears when she strained them for the mention of a familiar distant voice or even a scream. But they were alone here, no sound to pinch her awake, to tell her this was real.

The man fixed his eyes on Hermione, roaming over her form, a predatory look promising he would love nothing more than to banquet on her heart. But she couldn't see his shadowed eyes, only guess the intent from his twitching lips...

Yet, she knew. She knew she would be gazing into the face of evil if that hood was to be removed.

"You," he said again. This time his voice was soft, dark and dangerous. "You are... interesting."

Hermione was praying and invoking the Gods.

_Please, please, save me._

She wanted to kick herself for being a coward, but she kept praying.

The man was twirling his wand in his hands, still walking leisurely around her.

"So fragile and scared." His voice was a caress of dusk and ice on her skin. "Yet so ready to fight, to throw yourself into the arms of Death to save your people."

 _Your people_. Hermione frowned but the two words were soon forgotten when something behind her halted the man's circling.

Footfalls were nearing them- many footfalls.

"Hermione!"

"Granger!"

Evelyn and Feodor's voices called out to her and Hermione didn't think she had ever heard more beautiful sounds.

Their footfalls stopped a few feet back though. Hermione didn't want to turn around. She held the stranger's stare instead.

He smiled at her.

"Miss Granger!"

A couple of professors were calling out from behind her protective Shield, the barrier strong enough to keep them away but too weak to conceal the scene unfolding before their eyes.

The man started walking backwards in a straight line, pausing only on the perimeter of the Shield, smile still in place.

"See you soon, Hermione."

And he vanished with a loud  _crack_.

.

* * *

.

There's a fair amount of sadistic joy taken from the man's pain, dancing in my veins, tickling on my fingertips. I want to taste it again.

But I don't. Instead, I kill the hooded man in front of me and Stun the other two.

My heart is pounding madly but I fight the urge to vomit for the child's sake, the boy who is now looking at me with his big, empty eyes.

My knees buckle and I give in. I fall on the ground, tired, exhausted,  _scared_. I'm scared of the urge to inflict pain again, for the taste of a single  _Crucio_  has never been so bitter and satisfying in my whole life.

I hate how I loved it, how my soul is yelling in pain and loathing within me. I can feel it beneath my skin, telling me to stop and continue.

I want to take my head between my cold hands and scream and scream until this sensation doesn't creep out of me. But I stay still, knees deep in the snow, head dangling on my chest.

Soft footsteps near me. I can't look up. I can't look up into his large blue eyes and be the bearer of the ugly truth.

I feel him tugging on my arm with his small, chubby hand.

"Mum's sleeping." It's a statement but I catch the question behind it.

Chest deflating, at last I lift my head and look at his tear-stained cheeks, his terrified face.

"Yes, she's sleeping."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for taking so much time to post this chapter! But, finally, the story moves on and somehow really starts.
> 
> First thing first. I'm changing the rating to M. Someone said in a review that they think this should be rated as such. I don't really agree since there's no mature scene in the past three chapters, this one included, but better be safe than sorry. I will actually seize the opportunity to write real mature scenes in the future - it wasn't planned, but why not. Of course I will always warn you at the beginning of each involved chapter.
> 
> Second: the love I'm developing for Feodor, Evelyn, and Zaiden is unhealthy, but I can't help it! They are my children and I can't wait to write so much more about them. Evelyn is actually my mirror, we are so similar in many ways.
> 
> I also would like to say that this chapter was quite difficult to write. I usually spend days on a single page, I'm a perfectionist (though I'm sure there are grammatical horrors somewhere up there anyway), but I definitely spent ages on these nine pages. I wanted the battle to be dynamic, not as slow as the past chapters, so I had to spend more time on it. I changed a lot of things while writing and re-reading that now I have at least three versions of this chapter. I hope you liked the result!
> 
> And I have to apologise to those who were hoping to see a kiss between Hermione and Tom, but, as I said sometime before, the building of this romance will be everything but ideal. So bear with me, I promise I will make it up to you for all the cliffhangers I'm going to- oops, big spoiler!
> 
> And, please, consider leaving a review, any feedback is very appreciated, it's my personal writing boost. My heart bursts in love every time I read a comment (:


	5. Chapter 4 - Tales

 

_How did they arrive?_

_Where were you when it happened?_

_Who were they?_

_Who. Were. They?_

"Miss Granger, what happened when Miss Clearwater and Mr Nott arrived?"

"The man Disapparated."

"And you didn't see his face?"

"No."

"Did you two talk? Did he say something?"

"Nothing."

"You two duelled for more than half an hour and he didn't say anything?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"What about his face?"

"This is the second time you ask, sir."

"This is not an interrogation, Miss Granger."

"You have asked questions to each of us, in separate sessions. We've answered to you, the professors, and the Minister himself...  _each one of us, again, in different sessions_. That makes something like fifteen stories."

"I'm aware."

"I'm tired."

"Every little detail is fundamental."

"I told you everything I know."

The Auror, a middle-aged man with grizzled hair and bad scars stretched across his face, doesn't seem satisfied with the answers but at last he accepts defeat. He closes his notebook and pockets a muggle pen in the inside of his coat.

"Alright. Is there something you want to add? Something you forgot to mention-"

Granger's tone is cold and firm. "No."

Anyone else would have lost the plot by now, but the Ravenclaw girl has answered without a single quiver in her voice, recounting the duel she had with the stranger  _three_  bloody times.

I glance at the clock behind the headmaster's desk, just like I have been doing for the past four hours. It's 11 pm.

I'm tired, so fucking tired. I'm still sitting in this comfy chair, looking out the windows but not really seeing. My mind is empty for once, devoid of any thought that might trigger those... memories. It's easy to imagine that it was all a nightmare while it's harder to try getting rid of the stench of Death and the taste of murder and torture once I recall what's really happened.

But I make the mistake of stealing a glance at Feodor, seated on my left, and see his dishevelled hair, pale face and split lip to get back everything in my head, the scene sliding before my eyes in shots like a succession of photos. The mental sight is like a blow to the stomach.

_Murderer, you are a murderer once again, you deserve the Kiss, you deserve to rot in a putrid cell in Azkaban for the rest of your pathetic life-_

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

The Auror gets to his feet and runs his calculating eyes over all of us. "You may go now."

_Hallelujah._

Dippet and Dumbledore, who have been standing outside the headmaster's office during this not-an-interrogation, nod at us without uttering a word, their lips set in two matching grave lines, when we walk out the door.

We quietly descend the stairs, pass the gargoyle, and numbly step in the chilly corridor.

The screams are just a memory and still they fill the dark air while the eerie castle has fallen to a mourning silence. The sound, or absence of it, stabs my ears.

No ghost floats within our sight while we walk - looking for what place I don't know. I'm tired, but no one is trying to find the way to their common rooms. We are wandering, no destination on our mind- only the feeling of blood under our feet.

No huff disturbs us when we have to lighten our tracks in the dark and interrupt the paintings' sleep. Actually, the paintings are empty of their subjects. They are probably gathered in the frames up there, in the headmaster's office. The busybodies.

When we reach a particularly disused corridor on the third floor, Clearwater finally breaks down and the surreal deafening silence dissipates.

Evelyn sags back against the wall and slides down, on the dusty floor, crying noiselessly. Feodor squeezes his eyes shut while Davies and Granger crouch next to Evelyn.

"I won't tell you not to cry," Granger whispers, stroking her friend's hair. "But soon you will have to give yourself a reason for it. All of it."

Evelyn lifts her gaze on Granger, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"Cry all the pain out. Let it flow away. You will feel better later... I promise."

Zaiden chokes on a sob.

Standing here, my lightless wand impotently clutched at my side, I look at Feodor and the Ravenclaws as we all process what happened this evening. I don't walk away from the stark reality.

I'm no stranger to pain and death. I'm no stranger to blood. But... this time is different.

This time I'm the one feeling the pain.

And the pain asks to be fed.

_Feed me._

.

* * *

.

Granger has been sleeping in the Hospital Wing for three days without waking up once.

It happened the other night, when Feodor and I decided to accompany Clearwater, Granger, and Davies to the tower. One moment the bushy head was there, answering the door's question to enter the common room, the following second she was on the floor, unconscious.

The matron said that the girl had been drained of all her energies, her magic having been strained in the duel- 'abused', that's the word she used.

I keep asking myself what happened in the duel for drying Granger to such a state. No, not really what. That I already know.

The question is  _how_. How on earth did she manage to keep a dark wizard engaged in a duel for such a long time?

Still, Granger looked fine the other night, during what I remember as the 'not-an-interrogation'.

"How is she?" Feodor asks at breakfast. He has been asking the same question every time Clearwater or Davies show up.

Evelyn narrows her eyes at Feodor as she sits across from him. "Good morning to you too."

The look on Feodor's face remains expectant. The girl sighs.

"She's awake," she says, relief seeping into her voice. Something aching in my chest eases its hold. "Madam Killick says Hermione can leave the Infirmary this afternoon."

Feodor smiles for the first time in days.

"Where's Davies?" I ask, tightening my hands on my cup of coffee to warm them up. The air in the Great Hall isn't cold by any means but my hands have been icy for the past three days. I wonder why.

Clearwater's eyes darken. "His parents are coming today to take him back home."

"For the remaining of the holidays?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

Evelyn shakes her head. "They sent an owl yesterday, just after that article about Grindelwald came out on the  _Daily Prophet_. The Davies think that to be here, at Hogwarts, is dangerous after-" Evelyn's breath catches in her throat, "after Hogsmeade."

Yes, there was no article on yesterday's  _Prophet_  that wasn't about the attack on the village or discussing topics closely connected to it. Grindelwald's photograph is on the first page of today's newspaper as well: a blond, curly haired man looking straight into the camera, a stoic expression sculpted in his handsome face. An expression that's not so different from the one I wear most of the time, I have to bitterly acknowledge.

Feodor scoffs. "There's no place safer than Hogwarts, everyone knows it."

"Yeah, that should be true," Evelyn says, lowering her voice to a whisper, "but Hogsmeade is a direct passage to Hogwarts. There are too many secret corridors throughout the castle that can lead Grindelwald in."

"If it's easy to enter the castle, then it's easier to get through the simple Wards of a house," I say, leaning back in my chair. My eyes travel on their own accord towards the vacant seat beside Evelyn.

It's strange how in a couple of days I've got used to seeing Granger. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I miss her, considering that our few and short conversations were anything but friendly, it's just that I still have to solve that mystery that sometimes I see blaze and then immediately disappear behind her dull eyes, but...

"I won't go."

When I lift my gaze, Zaiden is sinking into the chair next to Evelyn, sulking with arms crossed tightly over his chest and his face tinged a deep shade of red.

"I'm sorry that you have to go," Feodor says, looking at the boy with sympathetic eyes.

Davies' face falls even more. "Yes, me too."

Evelyn squeezes the boy's shoulder, smiling kindly at him. "I'm sure they will change their mind and let you come back for second term."

"Fat chance," he mutters under his breath, his anger flaring slightly. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears. Not of sadness, but resentment.

I know what it means to be forced to abandon the castle, its warmth, its safety and familiarity. Its magic. I have to fight the urge to yell in frustration every summer, when boarding the train in Hogsmeade to go back to Wool's Orphanage.

Back in first year, I tried to ask Professor Dippet if I could stay here during the summer holidays too – how foolish of me to think that I really could avoid going back to that Muggle morgue of an orphanage.

Feodor opens his mouth to say something but Evelyn silences him with a sharp look. She points with her chin to the oak door of the Great Hall. We all turn, following Evelyn's stare.

A couple is standing there, wearing stiff expressions on their faces, their dress robes screaming nobility and purity of blood.

Zaiden curses silently at the sight of his parents.

.

* * *

.

Davies Sr loves giving air to his mouth.

Feodor sighs, silently thanking Salazar that the scene unfolding before our eyes is, yes, taking place in the very Entrance Hall, but happening today, on a vacation day: no crowd huddled around the drama, no students cheering or, anyway, shoving their noses into a business that's absolutely not their own. Or mine.

Yet here I am, folding my arms over my chest and watching in silent irritation as Mr Davies threatens his son to leave him on the street with no inheritance, hence cast him out of his ancestral, pure-blooded home, if Zaiden doesn't follow him out of the castle.

Feodor, ever the quiet boy, is about to throw his usual caution to the wind and get into the argument to protest, maybe strangle the haughty man in the process, but Evelyn's steady hand on his forearm halts him. Her eyes speak clearly, 'Do not interfere'.

Feodor stares at her, aghast, but doesn't try to walk up and throttle Davies Sr again. Instead, he's scowling at the man while standing next to me and Clearwater.

Dippet and Dumbledore arrived a couple of minutes before, when the first shouts filled the air; they are now standing across the Hall, unmoving but gravely monitoring the situation. Nearly Headless Nick is floating nearby, wearing an expression of pure outrage and muttering words like 'rude fool', 'froward worm' and 'bull's-pizzle'.

"You are coming home, boy!" Davies Sr howls, red spots flushing his cheeks and neck. The she-Davies has the opposite colouring: she's so pale she can easily pass as a ghost. Or pass out, if her wrists don't stop shaking any time soon.

Zaiden stomps his foot on the tiled floor. "No, I won't! I'm SAFE here, bloody-"

"Don't you use that language with me!" roars the old man. "You, ungrateful child! If you don't-"

"I already know," Zaiden interrupts him, his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides, "you'll cut me out of your will, cancel my name from the family tree, close the bloody door of your house in my face forever and never look in my general direction again." The she-Davies starts crying silently. "And I'm telling you, I DON'T CARE!"

Mr Davies takes a deep breath before speaking in a lower tone, one that doesn't admit further objections, "You are still a minor and I'm your  _pater familias_. You are coming home- walking on your feet or dragged by the collar, you decide."

At these final words, a small and old house-elf appears behind the man's back. He looks at Zaiden with big, watery eyes.

Zaiden shakes his head, trying to control the anger. He opens his mouth, acid words ready on the tip of his tongue, when his eyes slide past his parents' shoulders and remain fixed somewhere above, on the stairs...

I follow the direction of his gaze.

Granger.

"Hermione," the boy says softly, smiling a bit as the girl walks past the Davies and reaches him. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she shrugs, turning around to openly look at Zaiden's parents. Mr Davies narrows his eyes at the hand Granger's keeping on his son's shoulder. Comforting, steadying.

"You are Hermione Granger." Mrs Davies talks for the first time. Her voice isn't as detestable as her husband's.

Granger nods at the woman.

"Thank you."

No need to ask what Mrs Davies is referring to. In fact, she doesn't say anything else. She turns her eyes downwards not to look at the man standing beside her. Davies Sr is indeed blinking at his wife.

"Mr Davies." Granger straightens herself to her full height, drawing back the man's attention.

"Oh oh," Feodor grumbles. "This can't be good."

"I understand you plan to keep Zaiden home for the rest of the school year, is that right?" Granger asks, her voice as strong as ever.

Mr Davies lifts an eyebrow, his upper lip curling back in a snarl. "This is none of your business, Miss Granger."

_True. What is she playing at?_

I expect a cutting retort, but the Ravenclaw surprises us all by smiling kindly, not offended in the slightest. "Technically, you are right."

Clearwater is holding her breath. Dippet is frowning. Dumbledore is expressionless. Still, I see the smirk that the redhead is trying to keep off his face.

"But," Granger continues, "I think I should have a say here. You see, Zaiden is my friend and I care about his welfare. And I believe that Hogwarts is a safe place. Not only there are powerful and skilled professors, but the students are also a source of security. The more we are, united and supporting each other, the less is the chance for evil to enter this castle. All wars are frightening. But we won't win by hiding away in fear, waiting for someone else to fight."

"Who says I'm running away?" asks Mr Davies, giving Granger a frosty look.

"Then why are you here?" she retorts, her voice still soft. "Why do you want to take Zaiden home?"

"Because I don't want him to fight! This is a war. I can see you are  _brave_ ," he spits the word, "but he is a kid and kids are dying-"

"This war might last years," Granger cuts him short, her tone subtly harsher. "Will you keep him caged in your manor? Deny him years of education?"

I know what Granger doesn't say out loud, the muted question that catches Zaiden's father off guard and makes his eyes widen –  _Will you deny him the chance to become a man better than yourself? A man who won't grow up to be a coward?_

"You..." Mr Davies falters for a second, clearly at a loss for words. "You are young, just a child..."

"I may be a child," Granger says, her eyes sparkling with resolution, "but I still fought the other day, in Hogsmeade. And your son fought beside us."

Granger pauses and turns her head to her right, where Dumbledore, Dippet, and other professors are now standing. Dumbledore gives the girl a faint nod.

"Zaiden wants to stay here, at Hogwarts," Granger states simply, looking back at the Davies. "You can try to take him home using force, but... be aware that I won't stand by to watch. I'm ready to face the consequences if the situation comes to require them."

And everything that is left unspoken is finally clear.

Professors can't act against the decision of family, wrong or right may that be. They don't have the power. A fight can result in being sacked on the spot since any father can decide to remove their underage son from school, at any time.

Oh, it's so clever and disgustingly heroic. A student antagonising a parent doesn't involve the intervention of a professor. That look between Granger and Dumbledore- he understood what this girl intended to do and gave her the clear with a simple nod.

Yet- yet, as she said, Granger risks the expulsion if things get out of hand. The inevitable consequence if Zaiden's father decides to not give heed to the Ravenclaw's words.

She's... a perfect idiot. Selfless like a bloody Gryffindor.

The silence that stands between the Davies and Granger is heavy. Dippet mops his forehead with a handkerchief.

Mr Davies eventually comes to his senses. After shooting a final withering look at the girl, he snaps his head towards his son. "Have it your way. Your mother and I will see you in London."

Mr Davies swings around and strides out of the Hall at once. His wife lingers for a couple of seconds more, imploring Zaiden with her eyes; she gives up and follows her husband when the boy merely gives her a bitter smile.

"Well," Feodor breaks the silence, "that couldn't have gone better."

Zaiden looks up to where we are leaning against a wall and laughs heartily.

I want to say something, something important, but I get distracted when Clearwater pinches Feodor's arm for his lack of tact, and when I turn around it's too late.

Granger disappeared.

.

* * *

.

The 29th of December 1943 is a day to remember. The drama of this morning is only the foretaste of what's going to come from today onwards:  _days of war and glory_. Or so Dippet says.

What I see is evil extending its claws, its wings spreading in the sky, widening to hover over our castle, the invisible but felt tremendous clutch of darkness accompanied by the scared whispers of the teachers, the terrified eyes of the students, at the news of mass murders happening daily on the continent, 'incidents' reaching our coasts every week- yes, it may be considered glory, but if it is, it's the glory of one, not all, not us.

The satisfaction of a madman over the terror of a country.

Granger, Feodor, Clearwater, Davies, and I were called to the headmaster's office again and again the Minister for Magic was in front of the desk, the severe expression of three nights ago replaced by a warm smile. He gave us a little pompous speech about our bravery and how everyone in the magic world should take us as models before clearing his throat and handing us a series of awards. He inflated his chest and held the gold and silver plates next to each one of us to take a book of photos that, he promised, would be printed on the first page of the  _Prophet_  this evening and tomorrow morning.

I already received an award last year, one that I clearly don't deserve but still didn't refuse when presented with it. This time, though... it's real. What I did is real and everything couldn't have gone so right and wrong that night.

That sudden desire to kill all the others after the first man had tried to cast that  _Crucio_  on a kid... I didn't follow it. But the image of the bodies hunts me in my dreams.

I looked at myself in the shining silver plate of my  _Order of Merlin, Second Class_  and cringed at what I saw. A boy who killed thrice at the young age of sixteen. A boy whose blood is pleading to do it again and whose heart is crying for the pain to stop.

True to his word, the Minister is grinning from the front page of the  _Evening Prophet_ , his chubby hands on the shoulder of a nervous Granger and an embarrassed Feodor, both standing on either side of the man, next to Evelyn, Davies, and me.

Me. The only fool who is not looking at the bloody camera and smiling like everyone else-

"Tom, what were you looking at?" Evelyn asks me at dinner, frowning at the photo moving on the newspaper.

I pretend not to be concerned by the question or the fact that I  _was_  staring at Granger during the photo shooting.

I shrug, pouring me a glass of pumpkin juice. "Don't remember."

Evelyn doesn't seem convinced but she has no way of getting more answers out of me thanks to the very source of my disgraces sitting down at the table- next to me. I dig a hole in Davies' oblivious face for the change of seats.

"Oh, here she is!" Evelyn exclaims sarcastically. "The heroine of the day has decided to finally grace us with her presence."

Granger gives her friend a funny look before serving herself a slice of lasagna. "Sorry, I didn't realise you were going to miss me that much."

Feodor, who is sitting on the other side of Clearwater, rolls his eyes.

"Where were you anyway?" Zaiden asks. His mood is definitely better. It may have improved considerably after Feodor got pushed into the Black Lake this afternoon, when we went for a stroll after all the drama. Feodor hasn't spoken to Evelyn since.

Granger sighs, "I was talking with Dumbledore."

The evasive answer seems to satisfy the Ravenclaws and they ask no more about it.

"Well," Evelyn starts with a smirk, eyes still trained on her apple pie, "the professors are proud of you, Hermione."

Granger blinks, not understanding.

"About this morning," her friend explains slowly, lifting her head to give the bushy head a knowing look that soon turns into a glint of mischief. She takes a breath before rushing out, "And-one-just-couldn't-take-his-eyes-"

But her words are drowned out by a shriek of pain coming from Feodor as, once again, he gets kicked under the table.

"Oh Merlin," Granger breathes, covering her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't aiming at you!"

Suffocated chuckles come from the opposite end of the table, where Dumbledore and a blushing Professor Noel are doing their best to look unaware of what's happening on our side. Sodding eavesdroppers.

Feodor shakes his head, trying to contain the tears. "What is it that you Ravenclaws have against me?"

Evelyn says something indistinct under her breath- that soon turns into the umpteenth insults' contest between the two.

I feel Granger shift in her chair, beside me, and I look over at that bushy mane that she calls hair and her back hunched over the table in intent reading. The newspaper is open on page twenty, where a long article about Grindelwald's biography covers most of the space. A strange symbol on a moving photo catches my eye, placed at the top corner of the page. I can't see it well because Granger's hand is covering half of it, but it reminds me of an eye.

It looks oddly familiar, as if I've seen it before many times, but I can't exactly place where. Well, I guess its meaning is somehow important if someone has cared enough to paint it on Nurmengard's walls. Probably Grindelwald himself.

"What's that?" Zaiden asks, pointing at the photo and leaning over the table to take a better look.

Granger closes the newspaper and waits a tense minute to answer in a measured tone, "It's an ancient symbol. One that Grindelwald is using as personal signature without any right to do so."

From the corner of my eye, I see Dumbledore incline his head in our direction. His eyes are still trained on Slughorn though, who is entertaining the staff with tales of his travels and adventures.

"What does it mean?" Evelyn asks, tugging the  _Prophet_  from Granger's hands to open it again and study the picture in question.

This time it's Feodor's turn to answer. "It's the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

Evelyn taps her lips with a finger, thinking. I roll the name over and over in my head as well, trying to unlock any notion I might already have, but nothing. I've never heard of the Deathly Hallows.

Feodor opens his mouth to elucidate us, but Granger is faster.

"It's an old tale for children," she explains flatly. "Written by Beedle the Bard. It's just a story to convey a moral through the death of three characters, three brothers."

"Oh!" Evelyn claps her hands. "I know that story. So the Deathly Hallows are... the objects the three brothers obtained by Death?"

"Precisely."

Evelyn nods, grinning, happy she has figured it out all by herself – bloody Ravenclaw.

I don't want to admit that I have no idea what they are talking about. I need the library.

.

* * *

.

So Grindelwald believes this story? I can concede it's not a fable I would tell a child, not that any similar scenario will ever take form, but still, it's pure fantasy. Granted, everything that I deemed impossible and a stupid fantasy happened once I entered the Magic World, it doesn't matter how much 'special' I thought I was before turning eleven years old. I saw giant snakes and spiders, I hear paintings talking and see them moving every day. I walk stairs that are moving every day. So why wouldn't Death appear to three brothers and gift them with the three most powerful tools in the world?

No, even the Magic World has limits and Death is the universal one. No one has ever defied him. Yet.

_...because no one possesses the cleverness I was gifted with. If someone has the power to overcome Death, that one is me. I don't need a stupid cloak, a wand, or a useless piece of rock to become more powerful than Death. Cheap tricks._

But I still feel my insides clench at the thought of having these legendary objects in my hands and what I might turn them into-

"Thinking of taking over the world with books?"

A warm breath strokes my ear, the soft whisper making me shudder. I sharply turn around, ready to reach for my wand-

Granger is standing there, a roguish grin on her pink, plump lips.

"Granger," I breathe out. I run a hand over my face, trying to scowl it into my usual mask. Irritation washes over my very nerves when I don't succeed in fooling the girl.

She smirks. "And here I thought I would never see the day. I scared Tom Riddle."

"Hardly," I scoff. "What was that for, anyway?"

Granger shrugs, walking around the table to sit across from me. She lets her bag slide off her shoulder and fall to the floor with a muffled thump.

One day this woman can't stand my presence, the other she can't stay away from me. Her change of disposition is giving me a headache.

"Payback for last time," she says simply, adjusting on her chair to inspect the books with which I've surrounded myself in the last two hours.

"I thought that the blow to my stomach was payback enough," I say in a wounded tone. "Why are you here?"

"The others are in our common room, playing  _Exploding Snap_. It got boring after a while."

I raise my eyebrows in silent question.

"Nott doesn't stop winning," she snorts.

Yes, Feodor has always been good at table games. I laugh quietly, stretching my stiff limbs and running my fingers through my hair, messing it up completely. I'm so whacked that it's okay to drop all pretences of perfection- no one is here to see anyway, except Granger.

" _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ " Granger reads the title of the book that I've just discarded. "Wanted to read it again after the conversation of this evening?"

I don't reply immediately. Instead, I scan the volumes scattered on the wooden table, appraising each one for more time than necessary. In the end I settle for the truth.

"I didn't know that story," I say wearily, my voice barely audible.

Granger nods but doesn't comment. Strands of curly hair escape from her braid with the movement, swaying in front of her face and tingling her rosy cheeks. I have the inexplicable urge to lean forward and brush those soft ringlets behind her ears, but I restrain myself.

_Stop acting like a fool, for fuck's sake, you are not a Gryffindor-_

"Anyway," Granger says, putting an end to my internal struggle, "it's just a story."

I know what she's talking about, but I still eye her suspiciously, waiting for her to continue.

"Wizards and witches search for them, going through great lengths to put their claws on what they call the Deathly Hallows. They even kill innocents, thinking that what they win in a duel or cowardly steal thanks to an  _Avada_  at the enemy's back is the Elder Wand or the Cloak. But, in the end, every wizard ends up with an ordinary object."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it," I observe. So the wand is called Elder Wand. Granger probably knows the name of the other two objects as well.

Her voice is sour when she averts her eyes and says, "When you live close to the enemy and go through a war... you can't survive without knowing what He is seeking."

"And how do you know?"  _What was your role in the war, exactly?_

Granger pushes the question aside, her eyes drawing me in, locking me onto her fiery stare. Fire. Not the usual ice.

"Grindelwald wants the Deathly Hallows," she states. "That's why he was here, the other day. He's looking for them. And if he comes to find them..."

"But they don't exist," I point out, holding her piercing chocolate eyes. "You said it yourself."

"Yes, I said it. But if objects as powerful as those of Beedle's story happen to exist, then the world is doomed. You read the story, you know what happened to the two brothers..."

I think I understand where this is going.

"A weapon created by Death can only return to Death," I say cautiously, thinking over what having such a power might mean. Not dark nor light. A weapon created to cheat Death can't possibly create a peaceful life, it doesn't matter in whose hands it's held.

Hunted, that's the existence that the master of the Hallows would lead. Running from the eventual end, killing whoever tries to obstacle you and reviving the cared ones who are already on the other cold side.

I muse on the possibilities, the ifs of owning the three gifts. Maybe, maybe walking hand in hand with Death is preferable after all-

_No. Death is not an option._

I clear my head of the flooding images of the Deathly Hallows, this Grindelwald's nonsense.

"I bet they don't exist," I say tiredly, rubbing my temples. "Beedle isn't so different from the Grimms. And we don't see sugar houses, talking frogs or sleeping beauties in the Muggle world, so-"

I stop speaking at the first mention of an unfamiliar sound. I pause to listen, looking around the bookshelves, but the library is deserted. I hear it again.

And, then, I forget entirely what I was talking about when I finally glance back at Granger. She's shaking and emitting that foreign sound. She does it again. I hold my breath, waiting to hear it once more and be certain-

A laugh. A real one. I stare at the bushy head in irritation as she tries to contain her laughter until she can't hold it anymore. She breaks into heartily laughs, her eyes squinted and their corners crinkled.

I clench my jaw, at first annoyed that she's interrupting a serious conversation and even laughing, clearly, at what I was saying, but- thinking about it, I don't find it irritating. It's different from the shrieks of the stupid girls throwing themselves at the Quidditch guys. It's different from the coarse barks of the women in the pubs. This is sincere, feminine, the most honest sound I have heard coming from her. And, Salazar forbid, but it tastes so sweet in my mouth that I wouldn't mind if it kept ringing in my ears over and over again-  _Now I'm thinking like a foolish Gryffindor._

Unwanted again, the beast within my chest is not hissing or knocking its tail against my rib cage in anger like usual. It's purring and craving for more-

"I-It's unfortunate," Granger says between the giggles, trying to calm down, "that the Muggle world d-doesn't have sugar houses. When I was a child I dreamed of chocolate buildings."

I let myself give her a genuine smile of my own. "I wouldn't mind a city like that."

The Ravenclaw dries her tears with the back of her hand, small giggles still rolling off her tongue and escaping from her lips. She flashes me a toothy grin.

"A library of sugar," she says, her eyes turning distant and filled with want – my pulse quickens at the sight, "towers of books crafted in the most delicious flavours of chocolate..."

"Well, I can't say I've never seen you eat a book before," I smirk, crossing my arms and reclining back in the chair. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Ha, look who's talking."

Heavy rain starts falling outside, pattering on the windows, its sound trickling in the library like a soft waterfall on glass.

Granger's smile is ebbing away but the corners of her lips are still tilted upwards. She's fiddling with the hem of her jumper, her eyes avoiding mine. I can understand it. For a moment she let the mask slip away, granting me the taste of a real laugh. Now that I've seen a small part of her person behind the wall of mistrust and protection, Granger doesn't know how to proceed. How to interact- with me.

" _I wish we could be friends, Miss Granger_." That's what I said not many nights ago. The closer I can get, the easier it's going to be to unveil her secret.

I clear my throat, taking off my reading glasses and peering at the girl's face shadowed by her curly hair.

"What books do you prefer eating?" I ask, hunching on the table to rest my heavy head on crossed arms.

Granger lifts her round eyes, thrown off by the question. But that small smile is still toying with her lips.

"I won't tell you a secret any more if you are going to use it against me," she frowns, faking to sound hurt and completely failing.

"I wasn't aware it was a secret," I say, my lips curling. "Now I know I can use that one."

My smile broadens when she flings a glare in my direction.

"Come on," I push, "an answer for an answer. Favourite book."

The Ravenclaw exhales in defeat before waving a hand in my direction, "You go first."

" _Grimms' Fairy Tales_ ," I promptly answer, "but  _Hogwarts: A History_  is a close second."

Granger appears impressed. "Well, those fairy tales are dark and gory, no wonder it's your favourite book."

"I won't dignify what I think you have just said with a response," I bite back, offended. "And, for your information, Slytherin doesn't mean dark and gore."

"Sorry, couldn't resist," she chuckles. "Mine is the  _Iliad_ , on par with the  _Odyssey_."

I smile lazily again, recalling the two poems. "I can see why you like them. There's a bit of gore there too, I guess, so we are even on our literary tastes." Granger snorts.

"Did your parents like mythology?" I ask, finding myself truly interested.

I know I've brought up a sore subject the moment she looks away and remains silent, but I wait patiently, our ears absorbing the sound of the rain dancing in the chilly air above us, tapping on the roof.

"All my family loved mythology," she murmurs after a while, looking through the high windows. I straighten my back, looking intently at the head that Granger doesn't want to turn around. Because I want to see what her eyes are saying right now. "My grandfather called my mother Helen. It was obvious what my name would be once my parents discovered that I was a girl..."

" _Hermione_ ," I say softly, my voice so low as to not let anyone but the two of us hear me.

" _But the Gods gave no more children to Helen_

 _once she had borne her first and only child_ ,"

Hermione leaves the sight of the windows and faces me with an unreadable expression as I continue,

" _...the lovely Hermione, with the beauty of Aphrodite the Golden_."

Her eyes drop to my lips.

But I convince myself I imagined it when she abruptly pushes back her chair, picks up her bag, and gives me a strained smile that doesn't reach her eyes at all.

"Goodnight, Tom," she says stiffly before storming out of the library. She leaves so fast that I don't have time to blurt anything back. But she doesn't walk fast enough for me not to hear a sob coming from behind the many rows of books.

I stay motionless, sitting at the wooden table until curfew, when the librarian walks over to kick me out. I walk numbly to the Slytherin common room, enter the dorm, and climb my bed, not bothering to strip off my uniform.

What a single word has done to me... it's the first time she said it. And I don't hate how it sounds. No, I actually like it.

My Muggle name on a Mudblood's lips. I want to make her say it again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the fourth chapter is here! I must thank you for the lovely reviews, I'm happy that you are liking this story as much as I do.
> 
> This chapter isn't as heavy (I hope) as it was in its first version - we are at version four, as usual... Anyway, I'm trying to alternate difficult and light chapters, so I hope the reading will be easier this way.
> 
> I'm also updating in the dead of the night. I will come back tomorrow morning for the grammatical horrors I'm sure are up there - I apologise for those and blush fifty shades of red.
> 
> Ah, sweet Tom won't remain so sweet for too long, but I must say I like this new side of him. And, about the reading glasses, he he (:
> 
> Little spoiler: next chapter starts from Hermione's POV ;)
> 
> Please, consider leaving a review: every notice I receive just makes me want to hug my readers and write so, so much more!


	6. Chapter 5 - Hallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. And the end of the beginning.

 

The first time Hermione had seen Tom Riddle, she had thought that he couldn't be  _that_  Tom Riddle. She had wondered if it were possible for two identical Tom Riddles to attend Hogwarts, because the one before her eyes, that Halloween night, had looked like an ordinary student, quite charming, but ordinary nonetheless. There had been no trace of the bastard who would destroy her life in fifty years on his innocent, pale face. A face so pale he had looked almost fragile, even more fragile than her shattered heart, than her thin to the bone body.

But once she had registered the stark reality in those seconds stuck between incredulity and acceptance, Hermione had had to fight her instinct with the shreds of willpower that remained within her not to lunge at the boy. To not choke him to death and ever so slowly tear his limbs apart.

_He killed people, so many people He killed my friends- Moment after moment she sees dead faces at the front of her mind, she screams at the torture, she tries to stop it but she fails She fails She can't help Why can't I help? Help, someone, stop it-_

"You are safe, Hermione."

But it had got worse. No matter how hard she had tried to avoid him. From that night she had kept seeing him every day. Everywhere. Every corner she had turned. Every bloody time, Tom Riddle had managed to find himself within Hermione's sight. And every time Hermione's eyes had travelled from his dark hair to his eyes... only to find them too dark to be Harry's.

_Harry, her best friend, Harry, who had decided to die to save everyone else, Harry was dead, her selfless Harry, falling on the ground in the middle of green lights because of her stupidity-_

"Being alive is not a fault, Hermione."

But he could have survived. And it was all because of this bastard.

And, then, the anger that had assaulted Hermione at the mere sight of raven hair had been replaced by sadness until another wave of anger could hit her nerves. And every time she had had to refrain herself from succumbing to her desire, from torturing the innocent Tom Riddle and let him drown in his own blood until Death came to suck his last breath. Oh, how she had wanted to see the light in those dark eyes extinguished.

Yes, Hermione hated Tom Riddle with a passion. She could have vomited for his fake smiles, his perfect act, his handsome face, his sodding well manners. She had hated how much his proximity affected her and then she had hated him some more because he bloody well knew it.

But- Sometimes she found herself willing to talk to him, get a glimpse of his humanity behind the mask, just like that evening; he had acted so normal that she had forgotten who she had been talking to and then- Hermione couldn't get Riddle's words out of her head... that soft voice that should be heard solely in the privacy of the bedroom-

_No!_

Hermione broke free from foreign mental chains with all her forces, slamming her shoulders back against the chair and almost knocking it off its legs. She gasped in horror at her bared thoughts before realising that she was crazily sweating. She wildly looked around, remembering where she was and why. She returned her eyes in front of her and found a smiling Professor Dumbledore.

"Impressive," he said, tilting his head to study her with his intuitive gaze, a flick of light catching onto the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Only two lessons and you can already close your mind to me. To be fairly honest with you - and not much modest about me - if you have succeeded in throwing me out, twice now, I think your mental shields can hold, well, anyone."

Hermione's heartbeat was almost back to normal, but the swirl of recent and past memories was still at the back of her skull, taunting.

She shook her head, sighing, "But it still took me almost ten minutes to place my mental shields, that's hardly-"

"Ten minutes?" Dumbledore interrupted her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "More like ten seconds, Hermione."

Hermione widened her eyes in surprise. Ten seconds... so she was getting somewhere. She was about to open her mouth and speak her shock when the professor's look turned less joyful.

"What that woman did to you is..." he said. His voice low and his eyes filled with sadness. "I don't think that 'terrible' is the right term, Hermione. I'm most sorry about what you had to endure that night."

His eyes flicked to her left arm, to that patch of ruined skin covered by the sleeve of her blazer, the permanent reminder of a fact.

 _Mudblood, that's what I am, a dirty Mudblood_ , Hermione thought.

There were many things people liked to call her but which she wasn't, like stupid, arrogant, prudish, slutty and heartless. But when people had started calling her a Mudblood, in second year, she just had to accept that she was, in a fact, a Mudblood. The dirty, infamous Mudblood. She was the scum of society in their eyes... and perhaps she really was.

She may have been smarter than the average pure-blood witch, but she still was a Mudblood for genetic reasons. An error of nature. Over the years, Hermione had started to repeat those same words and told them to herself for the mere fact they stated.

I'm a Mudblood. Even if I act like I don't care, like I'm above it all, the fact can't change-

Hermione realised only too late that her mental shields were down yet again for Dumbledore shot an accusing look her way. She was grateful that he didn't comment on what he had obviously heard, though.

"Scars like yours can't be easily healed," he said, his voice much kinder than his eyes, "but every curse can be broken. I will see what I can do."

Hermione lowered her eyes to her knees, tears already gathering under her eyelids.  _And why am I crying now? Get a grip, Granger!_

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered, sniffling quietly.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Dumbledore turned in his chair to look outside of the window while Hermione discretely dried her tears. Sighing softly, she turned her attention to the various objects cluttering the office, contraptions she had already seen in the past months spent at Hogwarts, in 1943, but they were never tiring to look at- they were just fascinating and quite pretty, gold surfaces glowing in the light, spinning on the spot, floating in glass cases. What she had never noticed were the runes written on the surface of each artefact. She knew the owner of that tiny and spiky handwriting.

"Professor, may I ask a private question?" Hermione timidly inquired, her stare still fixed on a golden globe floating in a sort of cage. Runes she had never seen before were engraved on the metal in a cryptic succession.

"Seeing as you have already asked one, I don't see why you can't ask another, private may it be," Dumbledore replied, adjusting in his chair again to fully face her. He smiled lightly, the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes still absent.

"Well," Hermione said, not sure if this was going to be impertinent of her. She wasn't Harry after all. "I was wondering why you decided to teach Transfiguration. I couldn't help but notice that you've created these objects using runes- rare runes- and... well... it's clear that you like the subject and know a lot about it..."

"Ah," Dumbledore grinned, "but you haven't asked, Hermione, if I was any good at Potions, Quidditch or Herbology! This just demonstrates that you are either quite good at guessing or very observant- and, for the record, I was a complete failure at Potions and Quidditch, while I was quite mediocre when it came to plants."

Hermione was at a loss for words. The professor continued, "But you are right, of course. I love runes. I have studied the subject for years and I even consider myself an expert... and as you haven't said but surely know, I'm much better at dealing with runes than Transfiguration, which is always fun, but not that challenging."

"Then, why-"

"I was experimenting with dangerous sides of magic when I started my career as a teacher." The voice of the future headmaster was bitter. Hermione shut her mouth, listening intently. "I chose Transfiguration because I believed the subject safe, at the time. I studied runes and dark and grey spells every night while I taught Transfiguration during the day. When that... period of my life was over, I considered asking for another position, maybe teach Ancient Runes like I'd wanted to do from the start, but the headmaster had already found another professor by that time."

Dumbledore stopped talking for a moment. When he spoke again, Hermione's heart ached for the regret showing in her mentor's eyes. "I was like you, years ago. I couldn't get over the loss, the guilt. I hated myself for letting power seduce me with the promise of glory. But now I'm glad it has all happened. Or else I wouldn't be alive nor wise."

Hermione smiled back at her teacher when he pushed forwards a box of sherbet lemons.

.

* * *

.

Granger is avoiding me. She's refused to meet my eyes since that night in the library. Every time I open my mouth to tell her something, like a simple "Good morning", she obstinately turns her head and engages Clearwater or Davies in conversation. The nerve she has.

Well, I thought that at least she would have to work hard to slip away from my claws since her friends spend most of the time with Feodor and me, but no, she even managed to get rid of Clearwater and Davies and go off somewhere no one knows. All of this, I'm sure, because of me.

She decides to escape now. Now that I'm finally accepting that a small, irrational part of me wants to be friends with her, wants to unveil her mind and part her lips for a reason that goes beyond curiosity and interest in her secrets-

Damn her. I thought that Ravenclaws were logical people.

_What is she afraid of anyway?_

"What?" Feodor asks, lifting his head from the book in his lap. "Who is afraid of what?"

_Have I just said it out loud?_

"Yes, you have," Feodor frowns, looking at me oddly.

I sigh, sinking back in the armchair, the book that I've been holding for the past hour falling on the carpet, already forgotten. I pass a hand over my eyes.

Feodor leans forwards to pick up the book. "You know, we could do something better than stay here in the common room."

I arch an eyebrow at him. "Why, Nott, want to take the next step with me?"

My Knight rolls his eyes. "I mean that it's afternoon, the sun shines and it's your birthday. Let's have lunch in the kitchens and, I don't know, take a walk."

Feodor doesn't have to do much convincing. When we walk outside, the air is strangely warm for a winter day. Professor Flitwick and Professor Noel are working over something in the middle of the courtyard, an invisible wall surrounding the area about them, warning us to not step closer to the spot. Any other day I would feel the need to know what I don't, I would just get close enough to the perimeter and genially ask the two teachers what's happening, but today is not any other day. I don't even care to ask myself what's the reason to feel this... this down. Tom Riddle doesn't feel  _down_.

Feodor and I spend the afternoon walking around the lake, talking about trivial things, like his family, homework, and books. I don't mind. Strategy and plans can wait- I'm just so tired and feeling so weird. So fucking weird.

"What are you going to do after Hogwarts?" my classmate asks when we reach a bench of stone on the shore of the Black Lake.

I shrug and sit down. "I want to visit the continent. Find a job later."

Feodor nods. "I bet the Ministry will offer you any position you want once you come back. They want you already there."

It's true. Slughorn always introduces me to powerful individuals whenever he hosts those beloved parties of his. I do my best to charm such people but I have no real interest in working for the Ministry. I have other plans. Greater plans.

"You know I won't work in that place, Feodor," I say, staring into the black mass of water in front of us, the flat surface wrinkling from time to time when the Giant Squid gets near it, leaving the distant depths of its home. "I want to do something different, contribute to creating a better world."

Feodor doesn't laugh or look sceptical. He doesn't blink when I say, "You will see it, my friend, I will return this place to its original glory. I will get rid of the scum."

I look down at my left hand resting in my lap, the ring that should be on my middle finger absent. Maybe the time to proudly wear it has come. "A clean world."

Squinting, I lose myself in thought, my eyes trained on a random point through the mist that's forming over the lake.

"Tom," Feodor's wary voice reaches my ears after several minutes of silence, "what about the Muggle-borns?"

I look back at him and frown. His face betrays nothing but I read something that wasn't there, in his eyes, a moment ago. I swallow at what he's asking himself, his doubt. A doubt that I brought to my consciousness too, innumerable times in the past, before that night. Before having seen those big blue eyes, wide in horror, searching for a chink of life in his mother asleep.

"Don't worry, Feodor," I sigh. "I'm not Grindelwald."

But you are no better than him, a voice hisses in the back of my head.  _Murderer... murderer... murderer three times. You like it, Lord Voldemort, you want it. You desire it. You taste it. The pain. The blo-_

"We have seen too much blood," I add in a whisper meant more for me and  _him_  than Feodor.

.

* * *

.

By the time Feodor and I decide to go back to the common room before dinner, darkness is falling on the castle, the air growing much colder. Leaving the other Slytherin in front of the crackling fire, seated contentedly on a sofa with a book in his lap, I climb the stairs leading to the dormitories to freshen up.

I can hardly bear this voice, this hiss, hiding beneath my skin and torturing my mind. The first time I heard it I was in fifth year, while looking at Warren's parents enter through the doors of the Hospital Wing and taking in their terrified expressions at the sight of their only daughter lying in the bed, still like marble.

_Feed me again._

I thought it a product of my imagination.

But then, I heard it again, cold and hungry, this summer. After the encounter with an older mirror of myself. The beast hissed thrice at the sight of the three people sprawled on the floor, lifeless, shards of glass and wood storming throughout the house.  _You make no mistake, Lord Voldemort. You want it. Feed me again._

I was too scared and angry and hysterical to ponder the question of what that voice was.

I've heard it again and again, but now I can't ignore it anymore. It doesn't want to leave me alone. Not since that night in Hogsmeade. It's demanding and so insistent. I'm going fucking insane.

I strip off my uniform and take a long, hot shower. For a moment I imagine that the drops of water falling from my jaw are tears. I wouldn't feel ashamed about it, not in the privacy of the shower anyway, but it's been a long time since I shed a tear, so long I can't remember it... the feeling. It happened in second year, when Black beat me for the last time. He left me in an alcove in a corridor of the third floor, hidden behind a tapestry.

I sag against the wall, warm water gently hitting my face. I close my eyes and recall that next day, when Feodor Nott and Horace Slughorn found me on their way to class- bloodied, broken, clothes tore apart. I try to relieve a particular feeling of sadness at the memory.

But instead of tears trickling down my cheeks, I feel vomit coming up my throat.

When I walk out of the bathroom, the air in the dorm is chilling. I lie down in my bed for a moment, towel still wrapped around my hips; I outstretch my arm and blindly open the drawer of my bedside table, feeling for the only valuable item in my possession. When I find it, I slip it on my middle finger, but I don't look at it. Instead, I stare at the canopy above me. My fake sky is dark: no snow falling, no star speckling this depressing blanket that's supposed to listen to prayers and grant wishes, they say.

Every December 31st is dull and lonely and biting cold. Yet these holidays have been different, somehow, for the better and the worse. I think I welcome the change, the unexpected turn of events. I still can't define what's new but maybe, maybe I can decide if the rest of this day is going to be dull and lonely.

I get up and go through my trunk at the foot of the bed, shaking my head at my absurd idea of change.

.

* * *

.

Hermione trudged up the stairs, her mind feeling light and heavy at the same time after an intense session of Occlumency. The art came to her naturally, but it was still difficult to build mental barriers from thin nothing. The skill required a considerable amount of energy. She was sure it would require much more against someone as powerful as Grindelwald and...  _him_.

The truth was that she had asked Dumbledore for Occlumency lessons because she was worried for the odd relationship she was developing with Tom Riddle, but the official excuse was that she wanted to be prepared in case Grindelwald's men returned to Britain. Still, she was certain that the Transfiguration professor knew all too well who was her real threat. Once again, she was grateful he hadn't voiced the truth. But his eyes always turned sad when trained on Riddle, so he probably knew more than he let on. But that didn't mean Hermione could let Dumbledore see certain events when looking through her memories. She had tried her best to hide images of Harry and Lord Voldemort from the brilliant professor... but she also had the feeling that the truth was going to come to the surface sooner or later. If she was fortunate enough, and it was unlikely given her current situation, she would be far away when 'sooner' came.

Hermione sighed. She had knocked back a Pepperup Potion just after closing the door of Dumbledore's office and now she was waiting for the effect to kick in while trying to walk down the corridor in a straight line.

Harry had told her that having a  _Legilimens_  cast on oneself hurt worse than the Cruciatus Curse, but her experience said differently. She had forgotten to ask Dumbledore why she wasn't feeling any pain when fighting the intrusion of another pair of eyes in her mind, but all those information about his past had apparently been too much. She had to ask another time.

She thought again about Dumbledore, his once pursuit of power... so much like another boy she knew. Desire for power? Check. Desire for glory? Check. Possession of a brilliant mind? Check.

Hermione shuddered at the sudden image of Albus Dumbledore taking over the world in Voldemort's fashion. The world, magic and Muggle, would be worse than doomed.

 _What the hell am I picturing anyway? Dumbledore's good, he broke the spell of temptation, and, most important, he is not a murderer. Riddle, on the other hand... he's on his way to create a Horcrux and he already killed four people, maybe more with Hogsmeade's attack. Four people at the age of sixteen._  She shuddered again.  _What I want is just to get home. Why am I here? How can I be here?_

Hermione asked herself the same question she had been asking for two months. Why? How?

She didn't remember. Not a thing. The last memory she could conjure was that of Harry falling on the ground, dead. Then, darkness. She had woken up on Halloween night on the castle's doorstep, quite literally. She had been found stretched on the stone steps, covered in blood and unconscious, nothing on her but her wrenched dirty clothes and her wand.

 _People don't travel through time in a snap of fingers_ , she mused, her feet getting steadier on the tiled floor.  _There must be a logical explanation for this. Damn, while I'm here the war in my time might end, maybe it's already over because of me, it might be my fault, because I've disappeared, I could help, I have to fight with my friends, being tossed here is just inconvenient, now of all times, why the hell am I he-_

"Woah!"

In the middle of the corridor on the fourth floor, Hermione collided with something hard, a wall that wasn't there a second before. She would have stumbled backwards and gone sprawling on the floor if the wall hadn't reached out to steady her with firm hands-  _Hands?_

Hermione took a deep breath before panicking again when she understood that the hard wall was a hard chest- a very masculine hard chest- and that her head was currently cradled against said hard chest, its owner's arms held tightly about her.

 _Now, don't panic_ , she thought frantically,  _he got you, he won't murder you. Yet. How do I reach my wand How do I get away Think-_

The man cleared his throat, the sound vibrating against her ear. She raised her head, her mind still forming a plan to get away alive, and amused grey eyes stared back.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" Hermione's panic dissipated in an instant.

"Professor Noel," she breathed in relief.

The professor released her, the amusement in his eyes already gone and replaced with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you," he said, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.  _More like_ I _bumped into you_ , Hermione thought. "I shouldn't walk so fast."

The girl shook her head, smiling slightly. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Professor Noel chuckled, smoothly folding his arms across his chest. "Yes, your mind is always elsewhere."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow and the man quickly held up his hands, laughing.

"I mean," he said, "I noticed that you don't pay much attention in class. I tend to see these things, I have to keep an eye on my students."

Hermione was ready to deny, and tell an outright lie, about her lack of attention in Ancient Runes but Professor Noel held up his hands again.

"But it's fine," he added hurriedly. "Absolutely fine. Your essays are impeccable, it's not like you need to follow my lessons if you don't want to."

"Professor," Hermione gasped, "are you giving me permission to skip your class?"

The man closed his mouth, surprised by the sudden irreverence of his student, but when he noticed the tiny smirk playing on her lips, over his face fell a grave expression that would have made Minerva McGonagall very proud.

"Of course not, Miss Granger," he said disdainfully. "NEWTS are near and you can't slack off. I want to see you in class every day and, like the good student you are, you are to enter when I enter, if not before, never after the bell, and leave when I leave, never before and-"

Baffled, Hermione interrupted his little speech with two raised eyebrows. The professor stopped mid-speech. He immediately covered his mouth with a hand, the blush on his cheeks deepening.

"Sorry, Miss Granger," he mumbled, his voice muffled, "that came out wrong."

Hermione laughed again. Professor Noel reminded her of another teacher, one of the best Hogwarts had ever seen, her favourite.

She felt pain burning in her chest at the memory of the man she had admired and loved fall down in the middle of the fight, the man who had taught her so much about facing the dark arts, the creatures of the night and deep waters... so much about facing life.

Hermione missed Remus. And to make matters worse, Professor Noel was almost as passionate and good-looking as her dear friend; the bittersweet sight and memories were torturing Hermione's heart. All she wanted to do was reach out and hug the man in front of her and imagine he was her Remus, letting him whisper comforting words in her ear, guide her, tell her it would be fine, that she would go back home soon.

And then she thought about Tonks, her bubble-gum pink hair, the familiar toothy grin. Her silly expressions and favourite faces pulled to make Hermione and Ginny laugh when times had been most dark and hope had seemed lost. Fifty years in the past, Hermione could hear her brave friend trip over the bloody umbrella stand and curse under her breath. She could hear her exclaim, "Wotcher, 'Mione!" as she hurried over to give her a big hug.

She thought about Teddy and-

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and couldn't think anymore.

"Miss Granger."

Professor Noel called Hermione back from her catalepsy, his concerned eyes searching her face. Hermione blinked.

"S-sorry, professor," she stuttered, mortified. At least she wasn't crying.

The professor smiled and patted her shoulder. "It's alright, my dear."

The two stared at each other for a moment in awkward silence.

"Well," Noel said, scratching his head, "it's the last day of the year, Miss Granger, so let's make a memorable day out of it."

Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"Professor Flitwick and I have prepared something special in the Clock Courtyard," he explained. The torches in the corridor were producing a too feeble light, but Hermione thought that Professor Noel was blushing again. "Why don't you come out at, say, eleven? This... thing... we can have a better view by the lake."

Hermione had to forcibly keep her mouth from falling open in shock. Was Professor Noel... asking her to-  _no, no, it's not like he's interested in you of all people, Granger. He's not asking you out, you, bushy head!_

Hermione tried her best to keep her cool and not overthink about a possible double meaning behind the request. But then... she thought. And thought. Internally cringing, she debated. Eventually, she came to a conclusion.

Straightening her back and smiling a pretty smile at her professor, she spoke in the smoothest voice she could manage, "I would love to, sir."

Professor Noel widened his eyes for a brief moment and then hastily looked away from her. "Good."

Hermione nodded and turned to leave before she could hang herself with a golden chain in the middle of the corridor and in front of the very source of her new overload of anxiety and self-berating.

"Don't forget to wear something warm, Miss Granger!" Professor Noel called after his young and troubled student as she made her way up the stairs. "I don't want to be responsible for the cold you might catch in this weather."

"Of course," Hermione replied without turning around.  _Damn, he even worries about my health. This isn't going to be good._

She tended her ears and sighed in relief when she heard footfalls fading towards the end of the corridor. Deflating her chest again, she sagged against the wall and clawed her fingers through her hair.

The truth was that the main reason why she had just accepted the professor's offer had everything to do with an improvised plan and less about, well, him as a man. A plan inspired by the memory of her favourite teacher, a teacher who had taught in her third year.  _Third year._

Yes, Professor Noel's help could become a vital piece in her masterplan. Hermione smiled, happy to finally have something real to work on.

And the fact that the Advanced Rune's professor was a handsome, intelligent and single man was just a collateral benefit-

"No!" Hermione kicked herself. "He's older, a teacher and off-limits. Prohibited. You better not touch, Granger."

"Yes, but you can always look."

Hermione glared at the portrait of a tipsy Violet Tillyman.

.

* * *

.

Clearwater is giving me strange looks. It's not like she's never seen me wear something different from my uniform before. I just don't wear casual clothes often, that's it. The uniform is practical when you have to keep the prefect's reputation on weekends and I don't want to ruin my sweaters and shirts with the pin of the prefect badge- even I know this is a lame excuse.

Feodor even frowned upon seeing me get out of the dorm in a simple pair of black slacks and a grey sweater. It's probably because of the absence of the prefect badge.

But it's not possible that the simple change of outfit is seriously drawing so much attention during dinner. Dumbledore is shooting me not very subtle glances every two minutes and Dippet is smiling at me every now and then. Slughorn just beams continuously – three-thirds of an elf wine bottle already gone – while everyone else is either eating or openly staring.

Granger is quietly chatting with Zaiden, Feodor is gracefully stuffing his mouth, an open book floating in front of him, and Evelyn... Evelyn is smirking at me like she has been doing throughout dinner. Her wicked face is creepy and I've never thought there could be someone creepier than Dumbledore. For indirect experience, I know that Evelyn's smirk is bad news. I hope that mistletoe won't be disturbed this evening.

I just ignore the attention and keep on eating my baked pasta. Was I expecting something different from the other years? No. This is a day like any other, nothing important happens tonight. It's just one year leaving its place to the next.

When nothing remains of the second course, I patiently wait for desserts to appear on the table. I cringe when the usual cakes and pastries don't pop up.

I turn to look at Feodor, who is waiting to dig in sweets as well, and he shrugs.

"It's probably another incident in the kitchens," he offers, closing his book and putting it back in his bag. "Remember that time when Peeves made the place explode? All that cream and icing everywhere... Plates shattered to dust... The Hufflepuffs lamented about dust storms for at least one week."

I can tell Feodor isn't sorry for the incident at all if his dreamy eyes are anything to go by. Evelyn, who obviously overheard the tale, snorts disdainfully.

A moment later, when Slughorn stands on his two shaking legs and claps his hands in excitement, all chatter around the table strangely die down and all eyes turn to look up at the barely sober teacher.

"Today," he cries, wiggling his chubby fingers around, "is a special day! Today was born one of the-  _hic_ \- most exceptional men, a true-  _hic_ \- gem of our school-"

_What the fu-_

"-the best prefect that-  _hic_ \- Hogwarts has ever seen enter through that door," Slughorn points at the oak door of the Great Hall, "and my best student-"

"Horace..." Dumbledore implores, tugging on the sleeve of his colleague. "I don't think it's opportune-"

"Oh! Oh!" the Potions Master bellows. "Right, he is my best sixth-  _hic_ \- year student."

He raises his goblet at Granger, who nods back, embarrassed, and then he winks not very conspiratorially at Evelyn.

_This is not happening-_

"So," Slughorn roars before hiccuping again. He squeaks, "Happy birthday, Tom."

In the exact moment the drunk teacher sits down, an elf enters the hall from a lateral door, a giant cake levitating above his head. The light of the torches and floating candles dims.

I blink. I wasn't expecting this, no one remembers my birthday, I've never cared, but I just sit here, silently seething, glaring at the cake that the elf places on the table, the flames of seventeen candles dancing and illuminating the face of everyone who is now standing or sitting closer around me.

The fact that under the cream are five different layers of chocolate doesn't move me-

The song. Slughorn starts a chorus of  _Happy Birthday_ , a very off-key  _Happy Birthday_.

I bite the inside of my cheek, digging my fingernails into my thighs. Even Feodor is singing softly. I glance at Dumbledore, who is standing between the chairs of Granger and Clearwater; of course he's not singing, but a very small smile eases his severe features. Easing the scowl from my face, I slightly dip my head in acknowledgment and Dumbledore's light eyes give a faint twinkle- that less than a second later is gone.

When the song ends, everybody looks at me expectantly.  _And now what?_

Feodor gives my side a nudge. "The candles, Tom," he whispers out the corner of his mouth.

 _Ah, right_. I almost laugh, almost, and then think of the Muggles, their stupid tradition with candles...

Granger and Evelyn are looking at me, expectantly, so I comply: I close my eyes and blow out the candles, a remote part of my brain speaking softly a stupid wish.

The next three hours fly in a heartbeat between jokes and more songs in which Slughorn and a giddy Flitwick give a show of their vocal abilities, the latter fortunately covering the worst of the former's dissonances. I let myself smile at the sight of the Potions' teacher swing in his chair with a blissful air about his face, his waving hands knocking over as many goblets and bottles he can get within range. Professor Merrythought, exasperated after having fixed the mess on the table more than once, just Vanishes everything that's too close to her colleague with a flick of her wand.

I look at the stack of presents before me, still not believing that what I'm having today is a... party. Of sorts. I glance at the box of the finest  _Honeydukes Best Chocolate_  that Evelyn and Zaiden gave me and the book underneath, Feodor's gift. I inwardly roll my eyes at the title,  _Parker's Astrology: The Definitive Guide to Using Astrology in Every Aspect of Your Life_ , knowing that the cover is charmed, and with one of a Muggle book at that. The real surprise lies within the pages; I can't wait to know what rare work Feodor got me this time.

When everyone makes to leave the Great Hall to take a stroll outside the castle, Slughorn puts his arm around my shoulders, letting us fall behind the group of teachers and students.

"Tom," he says warmly when we reach the middle of the Entrance Hall, "I wanted to have a word with you."

I wait for him to talk, noticing he appears much more sober than before. My Head of House takes his time to pull out something from the pocket of his coat, a small velvet box. I know what it is.

Slughorn smiles, placing the gift in the palm of my hand. The object is heavier than expected; when I slowly raise its lid I can't help the widening of my eyes at the sight of a pocket watch of silver. The item is beautifully crafted with not too delicate nor rough carving adorning the cold surface. I lift and hold it in front of my eyes, hanging from a long silver chain. Mechanic stars shimmer where normal clock hands should be and the Roman numbers glow against the night-blue of the dial beneath. There are tiny scratches on the back, but-

"It's an antique," Slughorn informs me, tilting his head to the side with a hint of uncertainty. "Goblin-made. I thought... well, I'm quite fond of you, Tom, and one can be seventeen only once in their life..."

I finally look at the professor, making a faint blush creep up my cheeks.

"So, do you like it?" he asks eagerly.

I nod, setting the watch back in its box. "Thank you so much, sir," I say softly.

Slughorn squeezes my shoulder, pushing me lightly towards the door.

"The seller told me there's a particular charm on it," he tells me, leading us where the rest of the group is heading. "I don't remember the details, forgive my old age!, but it's supposed to always let you be in time, if I understood correctly. Maybe it works like an alarm, hmm, I'm not sure..."

When we step in the Clock Courtyard, Flitwick and Noel are Spelling rockets and fireworks.

"How much to midnight?" Evelyn asks, innocently batting her eyelashes at me.

"Thank you, Clearwater," I say. I roll my eyes when the infuriating witch tries to deny that the little party and coffee-flavoured cake weren't of her making – or at least of her idea in case of the cake, which was certainly made by the elves.

When Noel and Flitwick finish setting up the fireworks to ignite at the exact moment, only minutes remain for Earth to finish its journey around our Star.

"Why don't we go to the lake?" Zaiden asks, frowning at the small courtyard. "I think the view will be much better there."

Evelyn and Feodor agree at once, followed by the others, though for a moment I think I hear Professor Noel groan. I've probably imagined it.

I don't speak up but silently stalk after Granger, who is walking arm in arm with Zaiden, looking at him with pure adoration.

.

* * *

.

Hermione was watching her best friend sleep, who had a beautiful smile gracing her lips for whatever pleasant dream she was living. Feodor was probably in it.

Evelyn had told her about the kiss she and the Slytherin boy had shared just two hours before, down by the lake. Apparently, the girl had found her inner lion, the one she had ignored until now in favour of her more studious and reserved side, and decided to take things into her hands by taking advantage of everyone's focus on the fireworks. In shadows, with everyone's backs turned, Evelyn had kissed Feodor. He had returned the kiss in kind.

Hermione smiled tiredly at the memory of the blonde girl diving in a self-reproving speech about how she shouldn't have let her walls crumble down at the mere sight of a cute face – though Hermione could hardly see how the word 'cute' fit the rough beauty and strong features of Feodor. She thought the boy looked more intimidating than a 'cutie' with his athletic built, and she had told her friend so.

"Yes, but when he smiles that 'I'm-trying-not-to-smile-but-can't-help-myself' smile, you just melt, 'Mione," Evelyn had protested hotly, hugging her cushion before hurling it back on the bed and standing up. "And, Merlin, feeling those muscles through his shirt earlier..." she had daydreamed, her hands gesticulating and feeling the air for that ripped body she had surely wanted to touch.

Hermione had laughed, "Do keep your hormones in check, Clearwater! I don't want you to jump on me while I sleep. "

The thing was that she couldn't sleep. Hermione was tired, but every time her eyes threatened to close, something would snap them open again, making her quietly growl in frustration. So she just stayed there, sitting with her back against the pillows and knees tucked under her chin, looking at the peaceful sleep of Evelyn, her mind still on the recent events of the night.

She recalled the smile that Professor Noel had given her when all the lights in the sky had died and everybody had retired to their chambers, how she had felt so strange the moment his lips had touched her forehead in what should have been a chaste gesture of affection. She had shuddered at the feeling and slipped away from his presence, trying her best not to run to the Ravenclaw Tower.

_"Hermione!" he called after her, "what's wrong?"_

_He was following her, but she was already out of the courtyard and marching through the entrance. He called her again and she barely heard him over the pounding of her heart. She made to speed up but by a flight of stairs she almost stumbled into Dumbledore, who was just on his way to patrol the first floor of the castle. Her steps decelerated. Forcing a smile on her lips, she nodded goodnight at the frowning teacher and continued towards the Tower._

_Her heart was still beating fast by the time she was standing in front of the mirror of the bathroom, arms braced on the edge of the sink, the water still running, and her brain just couldn't catch up with reasons that, she knew, were just in front of her nose but somehow out of her reach._

_This complicated everything. But for her plan to work she needed to ask for his help as soon as possible, preferably after his first lesson of next term. By that time, Hermione had to get rid of whatever she was feeling- something she couldn't quite place yet._

_It wasn't attraction. Yes, he still was a very handsome man in her eyes, but his touch hadn't sparked that sensation of a swarm of butterflies happily gathering in her stomach._

_Yet a feeling had been there. She had heard it speak, even, telling her, "Don't."_

_Because if Noel's intentions hadn't been clear before, they were now. And, somehow, she had known she would disappoint him and this odd knowledge surprised her. She had probably wished for a man like him to look at a girl like her, but now, for some odd reason, she knew she didn't. How?_

Sighing, Hermione got up, accepting the fact that she wouldn't have any sleep tonight. Padding soundlessly on the cold floor, she grabbed her cloak and shoes and picked up her wand, tucking it into its holster under her right sleeve.

The nearly curdling air slashed her face and the skin that her cloak couldn't cover when Hermione left the commons. Trembling, she quickly cast a Warming Charm about her, coupled with a Silencing Charm. Taking two steps down the spiralling staircase, she noticed the portraits snoring loudly in their frames and decided that prudence was never enough, so she cast an Invisibility Charm as well.

The corridors were empty, as expected, and the light of a quarter of candid moon streamed through the high windows, contrasting with the deep darkness reigning in the castle.

Walking leisurely, Hermione let her thoughts take her to Harry and his legendary nocturnal strolls. She felt her insides clench at the memory of her best friend sneaking about the castle under the Invisibility Cloak, right under the nose of Filch and the ghosts patrolling the corridors. Hermione smiled at the memory of Ron, Harry, and her younger self slipping out of the castle to visit Hagrid after curfew, only to find the egg of a Norwegian Ridgeback in a cauldron.

Grinning to herself, Hermione came to a halt, realising she was in front of the painting of Hipparchus.

 _Hmm, this is a good night after all_ , she thought, gently moving the frame to the side to slide in the small passage leading to the Astronomy Wing.

Her head felt light while climbing to the top of the tower, but she was completely awake, drowsiness ebbing away with each step.

Panting, she reached the space where students usually studied the movement of the heavenly bodies. It was the first time she was walking in the tower this year, but the sight was still familiar and the same: archways looked out on the landscape, a breathtaking and overhanging distance between her current position and the ground, and telescopes and floating golden globes filled the space, not dissimilar to those in Dumbledore's office. They winked at her from time to time, when the light of the moon caught onto their surfaces.

Hermione entered the circular area, ready to lift the Invisibility Charm, but a sound abruptly stopped her. Barely containing a squeal of alarm, the girl stilled at the sight of a man standing in front of an archway, his back to her, the rest of his body half hidden by a huge telescope.  _Fuck._

Cursing in her head, Hermione started to tiptoe away-

"Stay."

She found herself paralysed with fear at the sound of his voice.  _Damn, I should have used Muffliato._

Tom Riddle turned around. "I know you are here, Granger," he whispered loud enough for her to hear, frowning. "Or are you not?"

If she hadn't known better, Hermione would have thought he was almost talking to himself, wishing she were there-

_No, it can't be. The idea was simply ridiculous._

Well, she couldn't avoid him for ever. It was now, sooner, or later- though the absence of a thorough plan unrolled in her mind was very much felt at the moment.

Sighing, Hermione made herself visible again.

"Hey," she said lamely, leaving her hideout from behind the telescope.

Riddle graced her with a knowing smile and turned back to stare at the starless night, scouting a bit on the left in silent invitation.

The last time she had willingly spent time with Riddle, she had ended up crying in her bed for hours. Granted, it hadn't been his fault that evening, but the reason for which she had broken down certainly was.

Sighing again, Hermione numbly walked to his side and stubbornly fixed her gaze on the slice of moon illuminating the sky.

"I wanted to apology for the last conversation we had, Granger," he started, as if knowing what was going through her head. His voice was smooth and measured and Hermione was scandalised at how natural and honest it sounded. She wanted to reach for his neck and snap it-

"Dropped the 'Miss', have we?" she asked instead, ignoring his attempt at reconciliation. They both knew that the apology wasn't felt since he had done nothing wrong to begin with.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow, pushing off the railing to stand right beside her, his chest inches from her shoulder. She still pretended to study the moon.

"You have been calling me Riddle since the first day we met," he observed, "so I think it's time to accept that you want to be on a last-name basis."

Hermione didn't speak. She had called him Tom only once, but she didn't want him to remember that.

"Or maybe you like it when I call you 'Miss Granger'," Riddle considered, folding his arms over his chest. "The formality of an addressing title gives you a sense of superiority and elevation over the others."

Hermione scoffed. "Only one who can come up with such an idea may have so strange and self-centred ways to feel he is above others. A title, after all, means nothing."

The Devil chuckled, looking down at her in a way that made her feel exposed. She shivered.

"Are you cold,  _Miss Granger_?" he asked, drawing his wand from his pocket. Hermione's eyes widened and she stepped back.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her hand reaching for her holster. Inside, she was quivering with fear, her nerves yelling for her to run.

_Run, get away, don't get killed-_

Riddle's tiny smile fell. "I thought I could cast a Warming Charm, Granger," he said irritably, "but I see that everything I do displeases you."

Hermione swallowed, realising that the good intention was sincere for she easily found it in his eyes. She tried to calm down, her hand still twitching to grasp her wand, Stun the young Dark Lord and flee.

_Why do I always mess everything up?_

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, "it's my fault... I'm just- I don't take it well when people point their wands at me."

Riddle's eyes almost softened. "It's alright, I understand. I wouldn't take it well myself had I lived in the middle of a war."

Hermione's chest deflated when the Slytherin looked away. For a moment she was struck by his handsome features- not that she hadn't noticed before.

But now, bathed in moonlight... She studied his sharp cheekbones and jaw, the aristocratic nose he never wrinkled like the other boys, and his thin lips, the lower currently stuck between his teeth. She looked at his raven hair, curled attractively on his forehead and slightly messy instead of being parted on the side like usual - the disarray surely obtained after clawing his fingers through it countless times during the evening- and Hermione knew that on any other day he would have never let himself appear in a such a casual state.

Sad. Hermione felt sad for the man, or better, monster he would become. To sacrifice such perfection only to gain power- that's what a madman had done. And in front of her, he was still only a boy.

"A knut for your thoughts?" Riddle asked, eyes still distant on the landscape extending around the castle.

"How did you know it was me?" Hermione questioned, leaning on the railing again.

"You have a peculiar scent," he shrugged.

_What is he, a dog?_

"I mean your perfume, Granger," he said, sparing her an offended glance, "so don't give me that horrified look."

Feeling more at ease than before, she smiled, thinking that she was talking civilly with Riddle  _again_ , a young Dark Lord who seemed to have a bizarre sense of humour, and, in some way, she also felt... good.

A gentle breeze stroked Riddle's hair, making his curls fall over his eyes. He swiftly pushed them back. "Why did you cry? The other night."

"I didn't," Hermione lied, rubbing her arms.

He looked at her, making a face as if to say, 'sure you didn't'. Hermione groaned in frustration.

"I just felt sad," she confessed. "My father loved that passage. The passage of the poem I mean, that one you-"

He nodded, understanding, and then Hermione asked herself if Tom Riddle had truly ever felt sad about the death of his parents, or of his mother at least. That kind of loss affected anyone, but this was Lord Voldemort.

_A Lord Voldemort who apparently knows the Odyssey and probably the Iliad by heart..._

A long silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

At first, Hermione had loathed everything about this young man and at times she had even pitied him. Sometimes, though, she just forgot who he was supposed to be and acted as if he wasn't the murderer of her best friends. She had laughed and smiled at a killer, enjoying his being quick-witted and his eagerness to debate and refute her beliefs in society.

An owl cried in the night, dragging Hermione and Riddle back to the present.

"You know," he spoke again, "you are the only friend who hasn't got me anything for my birthday, Granger."

Startled, Hermione's eyes snapped up at him as he swung around to face her. He was frowning at her, but a smirk playing on his lips betrayed him.

"I wasn't aware we were friends," she said cautiously.

"We are," he assured her, taking a step closer. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "May I make a request?"

"I think I have nothing to give," Hermione said dryly, backing away.

"I think you do," he breathed, closing their distance.

For a moment her brain stopped working and she felt lost. For a moment she didn't understand. Then her eyes focused back on him, standing so close to her, and she remembered and couldn't believe-

Hesitantly, he raised his hand and gently caressed her cheek, waiting for a reaction. She trembled when his eyes stared into her own with such intensity, challenging her to run away... but still leaving her the choice.

Emotions flooded her brain, clouding reason, and everything she heard was their laboured breathing and Stay.

 _Stay_ , he had said minutes earlier.

_Stay Stay Stay_

Her pulse quickened and her eyes fluttered closed when their noses touched, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. They shared a breath. Once. Twice. Their hearts were pounding wildly-

And, then, after centuries of waiting, a single star twinkled in the night and Tom brushed his lips against hers.

It lasted only an instant, an instant for Hermione to register his dry taste and inhale his scent, and she wanted more, so much more... But Riddle just rested his forehead against her temple, his eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed. He seemed to be having a mental battle and all Hermione wanted to do was smooth that cringe away.

"Hermione," he murmured, taking her face in his hands and burying his nose in her hair.

She felt numb, though electric waves were rippling through her veins. Her chest was heaving against Riddle's. She felt his strained breaths on her skin and... pain. She thought she was feeling his chest constrict in pain.

Tom lowered his face and kissed a corner of her mouth, his hands hot against her cheeks, and something cold on his finger grazed her skin-

Hermione froze. Like a bucket of ice dumped on her head, she came back to her senses, realising who exactly she was kissing and- She knew what was the cold metal touching her face.

_Fuck. What the fuck am I doing?_

Turning pale, Hermione pushed Riddle's chest away from her with both hands, making him stumble, her glare still fixed on the fiendish thing.

"Hermione...?" Tom looked at her, real worry mixed with lingering desire. He tried to catch her chin and make her look at him, but her head didn't want to turn, her eyes, her terrified eyes, were focused on something that was evidently on his left hand and-

He followed her gaze, confused. "Hermione, what-"

 _No, fuck_. Hermione stirred from her trance, her stare now darting between the boy and his hand.  _No No._

Tom's attention fell on his ring.

 _No, no, what have I done_ , she screamed in her head.

Tom raised his hand, inspecting his ring finger. The ring. The bloody ring that Hermione had somehow forgotten he already possessed.

Tom's eyes narrowed as they both stared in shock at the black stone encased in the heavy golden band, the metal catching the dim light of the moon-

And he knew, he fucking knew now, what it was and what it could do, because she had foolishly told him the tale, he had read it and it was her fault.

_No, please, don't look-_

But he kept staring at the stone, at the silver triangle, vertical line and circle magically engraved thousands of years before in its very core-

"You lied," Tom finally whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Liked it? Hated it?  
> I wrote this chapter very carefully, deleting so many scenes and adding others but I'm still not satisfied with it because I want to write from so many POVs... damn it!  
> Tom... Sweet Tom... I want to cry. But I can't because I have to write so much, much more!  
> I promise I will explain everything in the next chapter (don't kill me for the cliffhanger).
> 
> As always, any review and feedback is appreciated! Reviews give me inspiration and keep my Muse awake! **


	7. Chapter 6 - Faults

 

She tasted like her scent. Of rain and pines and books and chocolate and something else I couldn't make out, at least not when I was losing myself in the feeling of having her in my arms, shaking and softly gasping in my mouth, but I was sure that later, all my logical faculties regained, I would have known.

All I could think of was her.

 _Her Her I want her_ -

I don't know who was speaking. Me or the beast within me.

 _I want her She's my present-_  No.

Liar. She's a liar.

_Liar Liar Liar_

She fucking lied to me. I'm angry and confused and... disappointed.

I look down at her, the ring in my fisted hand feeling heavier than ever. I should have known sooner. I should have noticed the bloody symbol much sooner.

But she knew. She knows. How.

Granger looks up, her eyes wide with horror and her face white... with what? Fear. She fears me. She should.

"You lied," I say again, closing our distance with a threatening step. Her bottom lip trembles and she backs immediately away- only to bump hard into the wall. "You knew."

It's not a question and she doesn't answer. She just stares at me, fear etched into her face. To her credit, she's not crying.

"Why?" I ask. I'm not able to stop my forehead from frowning, but at least I manage to keep the resentment out of my voice and push forwards every inch of wrath instead.

The bushy head opens her mouth as if to speak, but her voice doesn't come out.

"You said they didn't exist," I hiss, seizing her shoulders. "Don't fucking lie again. You know what this ring is."

Unsuccessfully trying to break free from my grasp, Granger gives up and exhales. Her breathing gets gradually steadier and her eyes train on the landscape expanding behind my back. I want to read what she's thinking, I want to fucking know, but her expression tells me nothing.

"I never said I was sure about it, Riddle," she says coldly, her voice strong, before looking back at me. I take a seething breath at the sight of her blank gaze.

"You know what it is, Granger." I speak crisply and slowly, the blood in my hands heating, urging me to reach out and clutch her slender neck, dig my fingers into her perfect skin-

_Taste her blood_

"It's marked," Granger spits, her eyes flicking to my hand, "of course I know what it is."

_She's lying She knows_

"You are lying," I start calmly, placing my hands on either side of her head, her breath tickling my neck and jaw, her breasts crushed against my stomach. "It could have been just a symbol on a common ring, yet you fear it. You knew."

"I didn't-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" I roar, slamming my fist into the wall. The sound of cracking knuckles makes Granger flinch, but I ignore the pain. I feel the blood dripping from my hand into her curls, on her ear-

_It should be hers Make her bleed-_

"How?" I demand, feeling her body tense up. "How do you what this is and I don't?"

The girl swallows. "He's looking for a ring. With a stone in it."

I stiffen. It's not what I was expecting to hear. Grindelwald is looking for the Deathly Hallows, that much I gathered, but...

"How do you know?" I ask, dipping my head to take a better look at her. I'm quite surprised that she appears so collected after seeing my mask of impassivity slip, but that's probably because-

_Because she's not squirming in pain on the floor yet. Make her. Let me see-_

The hisses are stabbing my ears, blinding my eyes with blood. I have to will them away, let them fade into the distant recesses of my brain before I can go completely insane and give in to its request, this desire to strangle Hermione-

Hermione. I refocus on her and falter when I see her eyes round with fear once again. I immediately draw back, letting my arms fall to my sides. I feel empty where the warmth of her body was just pressed against mine.

"How?" I ask again, glancing away from her figure, adamant that I can't look at her heaving chest, the thin camisole under her cloak, or else the hissing will return to full force. It's still there though, asking to let it in, remote sounds shrieking their way up through my veins.

Granger just shakes her head.

"I will have to make you tell me, Granger," I say, cringing at how a certain part of me wants to make her talk.

The girl doesn't utter a word. I empty my chest with a sigh.

"Hermione," I say flatly, eyes still glued to the slice of moon illuminating the night, "if you don't speak and tell me what you know..."

I drop what the consequences will be not to sound menacing but because I don't know how to proceed myself.

Hermione still doesn't respond. Settling my eyes back on her, I take in the defiant stare she's throwing in my direction. She's strong, I can see it. But she gives me no choice. I really don't want to walk this path... not with her.

"Let's do this the hard way, then," I whisper.

Shoving her not too gently against the wall, I lower my head and I fall. I fall in.

Delving into her mind is like nothing I have experienced before. I see something, a memory sliding faster than a flash... a tall boy with dark hair. Maybe an image of myself. When the figure emerges, the mental walls surrounding me tremble with a feeling I can't describe, sadness mixed with a sense of longing. But before I can touch the memory and see more, the boy fades away, forgotten, so I keep going down, down into the void.

That's it. There's nothing else here, only a bottomless abyss of darkness. Still, I continue the hunt, searching, wanting to find, touch something. I want to touch her. She can't keep me out of her head like this, fuck, I want to see, I want to know, but there's nothing. Miles and miles of blackness and emptiness and now I'm falling and- a wall.

Panting, I retract my claws from her head and I'm again in the Tower.

Granger is out of breath, her cheeks flushed with exhaustion, hair standing wild- and her wand pointed at my throat.

I should have known. If there's something Granger is not, that is predictable.

"You," I laugh humourlessly, ignoring the jab at my Adam's apple, "are something, witch."

Her lips remain sealed, but my mind is already working, frantically searching for answers.

She's far more powerful than I imagined. No one has ever blocked me from entering their head, not even Feodor. She's also a decent duellist, she's smart, so smart that she could have- of course.

"The book," I murmur, narrowing my eyes. I catch a lock of her hair and feel the softness on the pad of my fingers. "You took Bullock's book. Why?"

Granger prods my neck in answer and I laugh again. "You are the brightest witch I've ever met, Hermione. But your lack of response is only proving that I'm right... you are hiding something."

"I didn't steal anything, Riddle." So much venom is on her tongue, yet minutes ago there were soft moans.

So this is the game we are playing now.

I arch an eyebrow. "I don't know how I can believe you. I have to draw my own conclusions, dear, when you do anything but answer me."

"I don't know how I can answer when you act like a psychopath ready for murder," she counters, her eyes on fire.

The girl doesn't have the time to blink that our roles reverse and my wand is poking her cheek. Granger squints her eyes at the tip of the stick jabbing her skin.

"You have seen nothing, Granger," I purr in her ear.  _Let us play, then._  "Interesting choice of words, though. Why would you think that I look ready for murder? Do you think I would really kill you over a little lie?"

She shivers. "You look angry."

"I am angry," I confirm. I stroke her cheek and press my finger where my wand has left a small burn. Granger grits her teeth.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" I press, tilting her chin to make her look at me. Her chocolate eyes fix on my nose. I sigh. "I'm losing my patience here, Granger. How do I make you spit it out?"

_A sweet Cruciatus Curse will do the trick-_

I feel bile rise in my throat at the thought of blood and pain waving on Hermione's limbs. Damn it.

The brunette trembles, her eyes contemplating longingly the door, while my shields against that thing residing in my blood collapse.

_Take her Let me taste her pain_

No No No

Images of torture flood my mind, the memory of how I killed that man in Hogsmeade, how I had to use all my powers to not kill the others-

_She's hiding something She would deserve it-_

I give a sharp intake of breath.

_Feed me._

_Let me see how dirty her blood is._

_Feed me._

"Go."

.

* * *

.

Hermione was paralysed with fear, her intent eyes darting between the door and his face.

She held her breath when Tom- no, Voldemort, let her go and walked backwards, sagging against the opposite wall, a sliver of darkness shadowing his eyes. His red eyes. Red eyes that were now shut, squeezed, his mouth set in a grimace. He was sweating.

"Go, Granger," Riddle hissed. "Now. Before I do something we both will regret."

Stirring from her stupor, Hermione didn't need to be told a third time before she lunged for the door and hurled herself down the staircase. She ran without looking back and left the Astronomy Wing at once, countless voices yelling in her head of what had just happened.

 _It's all your fault Now you fucked up everything_ , she kept thinking, wanting to  _Crucio_  herself.

Taking two steps at the time, she ascended the stairs, going up, up, up to the seventh floor. She passed in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and paced frantically three times in front of the wall. When the silhouette of a doorknob started to appear, Hermione caught it without hesitation and yanked the still invisible door open.

The room was warm, cosy and familiar. Red and gold. It was unexpected at first, but, after all, it couldn't have been anything else. Not even the library. Hermione looked around and silently thanked the Room of Requirement for conjuring the common room of Gryffindor, the most comforting answer to her request for 'somewhere safe to hide'.

Hermione sank into the couch and wept.

 _I fucked all up_ , she thought, pulling her hair.  _He should kill me. I should Obliviate him. Kill myself._

_Now he knows I'm hiding something. I gave him all the reasons of the world to suspect me and to make matters worse he thinks I stole a bloody book from him-_

She fucked up. The timeline was fucked up now. Who knew what the future had become by now. She needed to tell Dumbledore-  _No, I can't. He must not know what Riddle's ring is._

Hermione wanted to go back to her own time. She had planned to create a spell using a complicated succession of runes, taking the idea from what she had seen inscribed on the Time-turner in her third year. She wanted to apply that spell in a sort of ritual and be transported to 1998-

She was a fool. Of course, something was bound to go wrong. She was stuck here. Even if she succeeded and created an impossible spell to move forward in time, what was her home going to be? Would her friends be there? Would her parents be alive? Would Harry-

Hermione choked on a sob. She wanted Harry and Ron to be alive, she wanted to see their smiles and even hear them laugh at her for being anxious for the stupid exams. But Harry was dead. Maybe even Ron was. And if everything had been perhaps lost in the beginning, the doom was certain now.

Hermione closed her eyes.  _Home... I don't have one anymore_ , she thought before falling into a dreamless sleep.

.

* * *

.

Sunlight was shimmering through the windows when Hermione jerked awake the next morning. She was still tired, the stroll of the night before had drained her of all energies, but she had to abandon the Room of Requirement and face reality at a certain point. Making up her mind and using her special reserve of bravery that had once labelled her as a proud Gryffindor, Hermione stepped out of the Room and walked to the Ravenclaw Tower.

The dorm was empty and Evelyn's bed already made. Hermione checked the hour and cursed under her breath when she realised that it was already lunch time- not that she was planning to go to the Great Hall, of course. No, she would just go to the kitchens and politely ask the house-elves for a sandwich to eat in the sole place that had never betrayed her. Holding onto this new resolution, Hermione entered the bathroom and took a long shower.

Evelyn was sitting on her bed and looking through her things in the bedside table when Hermione walked back into the dorm. She swallowed at the long hard look that her friend gave her, but she decided to ignore it in order not to feel any more guilty than she already was.

"Care to tell me," Evelyn asked, narrowing her eyes, "why you didn't sleep in your bed last night?"

Hermione rummaged through her trunk to find a clean blouse and her favourite blue skirt, taking her sweet time before she had to answer to what she knew was to turn into the Spanish Inquisition. Evelyn was dramatically tapping her fingers on the red bed cover.

Eventually, Hermione started to speak, "I did-"

"No, you didn't!" Evelyn cut her off. "You didn't sleep here, Granger. The Eagle said you left the commons and didn't return this morning!"

The girl had clearly been expecting the right moment to shove what she knew in Hermione's face.

Clearwater stood and made her way to her own bed to take a comb from a drawer. Hermione half-heartedly watched as the blonde sat on the mattress and started to delicately tread the comb through her long blonde locks, humming softly- her suspicious eyes fixed on Hermione. Creepy.

Hermione gulped but tried to take no notice of her personal Inquisitor by dressing up and fixing her own hair the best she could; she applied a generous dose of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on her mane and coloured her lips with a thin layer of lipstick. When the sweet humming turned into an angry gnashing of teeth, Hermione hopped on her feet and threw her arms in the air, lipstick and  _Sleekeazy's Hair Potion_  falling on the floor.

"Alright!" she growled exasperatedly. "Alright. You are bloody right, Clearwater. And you already know that! I couldn't sleep, so I just wandered about the castle-" a _nd fucked up the future_ , she thought, "and went to the library this morning. Happy now?"

Evelyn set the comb aside and gave her friend a saccharine smile while she seemed to ponder the question.

"No," she said at last. Hermione opened her mouth but Evelyn silenced her with a look.

"No, Hermione, I'm not happy," she told her, her face deadly serious. "I thought that we were clear on this one thing: you can talk to me, you can wake me up when you feel down even if I'm dreaming about the love of my life, you can take away as many hours of my beauty sleep as you want because we are friends, or, at least-" standing up, Evelyn folded her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushing dangerously, "or at least you can leave a bloody note of your whereabouts! Have the decency of fecking tell me when you don't plan to sleep in the dorms, Hermione!"

Tears were now streaming down her cheeks, but Evelyn wiped her eyes angrily, continuing, "Do you know how scared I was this morning? When I found your bed empty and you were nowhere to be found?"

Hermione tried to speak up again, but the other Ravenclaw held up a hand and interrupted her, "I know you weren't in the library, no need to lie, I searched with Nott! He was alarmed too! I was going insane, Granger, because anything could have happened to you!"

Hermione was speechless.

" _What if someone took you away?_ " Evelyn yelled, frustrated tears still streaking her face. "You, coming from a war and having faced the enemy only days ago- I thought the  _worst_  this morning, Hermione!"

Feeling more guilty than she had ever felt, Hermione lowered her head and fought to contain her own tears, without success. She closed her eyes but the saltiness stung against her eyelids, so she opened them again and everything she could see was a blurred floor and that stupid lipstick, now a derelict on the dusty carpet.

No one had ever cared this way, no one except Harry and Ron and her parents. No one had ever noticed if she had been sleeping in the dorms or the common room or any other place. But now... Evelyn knew of her past, a distorted truth of it. She knew about her nightmares, her insomnia, her fears, the death and torture...

A tear made its way down her nose and hung on the tip before falling in the air underneath. Another followed the first. And another- and another. Tears bathed her face until Hermione was silently sobbing. She felt guilty and an idiot and so stupid for not thinking, because Evelyn was right and the only scenario in which she could be wrong was an alternate universe where peace ruled and good won over evil and what seemed impossible in her heart and mind was a reality-

Stifling a painful sob, Hermione raised her head and then Evelyn was there, hugging her like Harry and Ron and her mother and father had used to, putting so much love and many words to comfort her in a simple touch.

"Don't you dare give us a scare like that again, Hermione," her best friend whispered in her ear.

.

* * *

.

After Clearwater had called Hermione a 'bitch' a couple of times during their walk to the kitchens (each time accompanied by outraged comments about the vulgarity of today's kids from the eavesdropping portraits), the blonde forgave the brunette and the two chatted and laughed like before, if not louder. Hermione forgot all her problems for a small span of time- or that's until she had the bad idea of asking (rather reluctantly) what had been nagging her until that very moment.

"After searching the castle..." Hermione said hesitantly, looking at Evelyn as she tickled the painted pear and then waited for it to stop laughing and squirming, "how did you know that I wasn't... well..."

Evelyn grasped the green doorknob that appeared in the middle of the painting and pushed open the door to the kitchens. "Tom told me he saw you last night."

Hermione felt her stomach drop but she made sure that her calm expression wasn't giving anything away.

"Hello!" a tiny house-elf greeted the two girls, bowing so deeply that her nose almost touched the floor. "What can Milly do for young Misses?"

Evelyn smiled at the house-elf and asked politely, "Is it possible to have a few sandwiches? Something simple will be enough-"

"Milly is to be back in no time with yours sandwiches, Miss!" the little house-elf exclaimed with sparkling eyes before rushing to one of the long tables to make lunch for the 'young Misses'.

"He said that you were in the Room of Requirement," Evelyn went on, sitting at one of the tables, "and that you were sad and it was better to leave you alone."

How in hell had he known that?

Seeming to pick up the silent question from her bewilderment, Evelyn elucidated, "He asked the portraits. You forgot to Disillusion yourself after your  _conversation_."

Hermione caught the emphasis on the word 'conversation' but didn't offer an explanation of her own. She felt her face drain of colour at the mere thought of what had happened the night before, and knowing that Riddle had even asked the portraits where she had run off to-

"Tom didn't look fine, you know," Clearwater added, oblivious to Hermione's unease. "Whatever happened... it affected him."

"I'm sorry, Evelyn," Hermione sighed, knowing that her friend was too curious and would pester her until she didn't get the whole story, "but... it's complicated. I was just sad and what Riddle and I talked about- well, it reopened old wounds. I didn't feel like coming back to the Tower."

Evelyn nodded before frowning. "He looked really upset."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, though she thought that Riddle was most probably upset for not having been able to Crucio her into the next century.

Luckily, her salvation from replying appeared into the shaky legs of Milly carrying a tray of sandwiches, pastries and two big mugs brimming with butterbeer.

"Here is yours lunches, young Misses!" Milly grinned, her chest swelling proudly. "And the best butterbeers from Hogsmeade!"

Evelyn clapped her hands rapturously, "Thank you so much, Milly!"

The little house-elf beamed, her bat-like ears flapping while she bounced on her feet.

.

* * *

.

Hermione and Evelyn had lunch in the kitchens in the end. The girls had tried to decline the offer of staying there, not wanting to be a distraction for the house-elves, but Milly had insisted so much that it seemed impolite to refuse such a generous invitation.

Evelyn hadn't broached the subject of the famous and secret conversation held between Hermione and Riddle again and, instead, she had talked about Nott. Hermione was sincerely happy for her friend, in fact she had smiled every time Evelyn had mentioned how embarrassed Feodor now was, laughing at his uncertainty when he hadn't known what was appropriate to do in public, kiss her on the cheek or peck her on the lips.

Hermione had kept smiling all afternoon, even when her friend left her in the library to go back to the common room and write a letter to her parents. But her smile had disappeared soon, too soon. The library had betrayed her. Or, well, the theories of the time which she was stuck in betrayed her.

Groaning, Hermione held herself back from banging her head on the useless book open under her nose, the words on the page mercilessly spearing her hopes and future every time her eyes caught them.

_It is still unknown if drastic and minor changes occurred to a certain point of time can alter the future or be the origin of a parallel timeline._

_In the first case, every event taking place after the change will be altered and it may be impossible to sense if another layer of events has replaced the original as the original may have never happened (see pp. 270-320 for 'Circularity of time') and unknown is what may happen to the time-traveller who produces the change (theories state that memories and body of the time-traveller disappear from the altered timeline if an event in their future prevents them from travelling back to the point of change)._

_In the second case, the time-traveller creates a new timeline B in which the events of the future are the original succession of events starting from the point of change and no event in it is connected to the parallel timeline A. This case doesn't admit the theory of circularity of time and doesn't allow the possibility for the time-traveller to return to the point in time from where they travelled back as such point in time may not exist._

Hermione wanted to cry, but she didn't. Even if every book she had consulted in the last three hours said the same damn thing, Hermione didn't cry but muttered through her teeth, "The next will be the one" and proceeded to summon yet another tome. But the next was never the lucky one and there were very few essays about this complicated and foreign subject at Hogwarts.

"Fuck!"

Hermione gripped the edge of the table and shut her eyes, her teeth sunk into her lips not to give in the urge to scream.

_Fuck... I'm stuck here. No No No_

"Hermione."

Angry tears were already brimming in her eyes but she resolutely kept them in even if they burned, even if everything she wanted to do was scream and cry and kill herself-

"Hermione, it's alright."

Hermione looked up and saw Dumbledore standing next to her. She wasn't surprised that she hadn't heard him approach her table. She didn't actually feel anything, she was emotionless and so, so empty.

The professor scanned the books covering the table and sighed.

"Come on, Hermione," he said softly, a small smile inviting her to stand and follow him. "Let's go to my office."

The girl followed him in silence. Her head was void of any thought but it still hurt, as if someone was keeping cubes of ice against her temples... as if they were torturing her mind.

When they reached his office, Dumbledore drew his wand and dissolved the Wards protecting the door. Now, Hermione was a great observer and she usually appreciated displays of complicated magic, like the invisible web of Wards surrounding a certain place, but this time her brain didn't even register what Dumbledore was doing, what she was doing. She could barely feel her feet walking under her legs and lead her into the small circular room.

"Please, take a seat," Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Hermione complied and stared ahead, out of the window.

"Tea?" the professor asked, sitting down across from her. She didn't reply, but the man produced a tray of biscuits and hot tea with a flick of his wand anyway.

Hermione took the cup that was offered her without so much as a 'thank you' but Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. They stayed there, sipping their tea in tense silence for several minutes. The sky outside was already darkening.

At last, Dumbledore placed his empty cup back on the saucer and broke the silence.

"I know what happened last night," he told her without preamble.

His tone was terse and plainly honest: there would be no denying today, she was sure. No false hopes, no postponing of discussing the truth.

"The portraits report to me when something suspicious happens or someone breaks the rules," he continued, his penetrating eyes not leaving hers. "Now, I won't punish you for wandering outside your common room after curfew, Hermione, but I must ask you to pay more attention next time and take the necessary precautions."

Hermione knew what he was referring to, how she had forgotten to Disillusion herself before storming to the seventh floor.

Lowering her eyes to the bottom of her teacup, she almost laughed out loud when she noticed a distorted pair of antlers through the dregs. Stupid Divination.

"What happened last night... Has it altered the future?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forwards to catch her elusive gaze.

Hermione exhaled in defeat and then gave a sharp nod of her head.

"How bad?" No anger or disappointment seeped into the question. Hermione hesitated at its bluntness but then decided that it was probably safe to raise her head and let the future headmaster see what was going on behind her eyes.

Dumbledore's stern look softened when he read despair all over her face. Gone was her emotionless mask or the anger. Hermione knew that he knew those feelings wouldn't have lived for long, but it was still reassuring knowing that she was able to not give into the temptation of turning into a creature of fury – unlike another student of his.

"Bad," Hermione whispered shakily.

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to nod, not in confirmation or understanding, but just to let himself feel the gravity of the situation, accept it and make something out of it.

Altered. Future. Both teacher and student didn't know what to do, but the first knew still so little of the second.

"Hermione," Dumbledore started gently, "I need you to answer a few questions."

The girl waited for her teacher to go on.

"I need you to tell me about your future. I saw certain... events from our Occlumency's lessons, but I don't know the whole story. I need you to tell me-"

"1998," Hermione said. "That's when I come from."

She mentally shrugged as a familiar part of her, the infamous swotty Hermione Granger, recalled how rude it was to interrupt people, but what was the deal? Dumbledore wanted a date, so here it was.

The professor didn't bat an eye and didn't waste time to ask, "Do you confirm that the man in your future, the Dark Lord who killed your friend, is Tom Riddle?"

"Yes," Hermione replied coldly, remembering how said Dark Lord had kissed her the night before- she shoved the memory to the back of her mind.

"What happened yesterday?"

Here. The question that she wanted to avoid. The answer she didn't want to admit. Failure.  _You failed to do just one thing, one fucking thing. So much for being the brightest witch of your age._

"Hermione," Dumbledore called her back, "your future might change for the worst or it might stay the same, but you can tell me. I won't divulge what we know nor use it for personal gain."

Hermione opened her mouth but faltered at the last second. To ask what was going to happen, or at least what had happened in her future, meant that the professor thought that there was a sort of way out of this mess. He could help her. But if there was, in fact, a way to repair the damage, was telling him everything she knew the right thing to do?

No. Hermione couldn't give everything away, especially what the Dumbledore of her time had done.

Finally making up her mind, Hermione started to retell her story from the beginning. She told him that she was a Gryffindor and that the Tom Riddle of her time was known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that he was a Dark Wizard. She told him that in 1981, the night of Halloween, an ancient magic had almost killed him. She told him about a prophecy, how Riddle had interpreted it, how he had tried to kill a little boy.

She smiled when she told Dumbledore that Harry had lived and that the Dark Lord had lost his body, though a shadow passed on Dumbledore's face, his lips sealed in a thin line, when she said that the Dark Lord's soul had remained intact.

Then she struggled to find the words and keep the tears from falling when she recounted how Riddle had obtained a new body during her fourth year, how he had used the blood of her best friend to rise again as the most feared Wizard of all times.

Hermione kept the details to herself, not mentioning the duels or the missions of the Order of the Phoenix. She didn't voice many of the names that had had a major role in the war, no matter on what side they had been, nor she referred to the Horcruxes, only hinting at their existence as 'artefacts that let the Dark Lord stay alive'.

But for some reason, she felt like explaining the pain and describe the killings. She wanted to let it all out and she did, retelling a story as if it were a fable without the happy ending, a fable of gore and grief. Hermione didn't spare her teacher from the details of the torture and the curses and the knife over her arm, carving in her flesh.

The girl paused for the first time since the beginning of her cruel tale after remembering what had happened at Malfoy Manor. Dumbledore was crying silently and the same sorrow and despair he had seen in her eyes were now reflected in his own. But how could he really understand what she felt? Wasn't he the reason for most of this horror? Wasn't he to be blamed for the death of her best friend-

Hermione glanced away and resumed her story. "We succeeded in destroying the artefacts but two of them were still intact, one certainly at Hogwarts. The night we entered the castle... Hell broke out. Voldemort arrived with his army and the battle began. We managed to destroy two of those things. But we didn't think that one could have possibly resided in-"

Hermione swallowed all her pain at the memory of her best friend taking off alone for the forest, how she had followed him, leaving behind a battle that had been lost to begin with.

"My best friend knew that he had to sacrifice himself in order to weaken the Dark Lord. B-But I followed him because I knew, I suspected it had to end like that, but I didn't want to believe it, so I went with him, b-because I wanted to- I wanted to... I didn't want him to die. But the Death Eaters saw me and tried to curse me so I had to hide and I lost him and t-then when I found him he was already there, a-already in front of Voldemort, and he s-saw me and I distracted him, he could have fought and run away and it's my fault, I didn't give him the time to- to-"

Hermione broke down again and cried, her chest aching so much with each sob that shook her body.

Dumbledore stood from his chair and rounded the desk to kneel beside her. Hermione felt him take her hands.

"Listen now, Hermione," he said firmly, making her look into his blue eyes, "and listen clearly. This is not your fault. Harry was aware of what needed to be done. He chose to sacrifice himself. It is not your fault if he didn't fight or run away when he saw you... because he was prepared. I'm convinced that he wouldn't have changed his mind even with you not there. He was ready to die, Hermione."

He was right. Of course he was. Hermione was just trying to take responsibility for everything that had gone wrong that night... to commiserate and condemn herself.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and went to stand in front of the window. It was snowing and the glass was covered with a thin layer of ice. Hermione hadn't realised how late it was: the study was now lit by candles and warm flames were crackling in the fireplace.

"Tell me about last night."

In panic, Hermione thought for a moment that Dumbledore wanted to know about that moment of insanity transpired between her and Riddle, that stupid gift he had wanted-

_He's talking about the timeline, you idiot!_

Hermione sobered up instantly.

"In my future, Riddle didn't know about the Deathly Hallows," she said wearily, sinking back in her chair. "I mean, he eventually knew of their existence, but it was too late to search for them. He only managed to get the Elder Wand."

Hermione frowned at the word 'only', but she reasoned that a Lord Voldemort with Stone and Invisibility Cloak would have been much worse.

Dumbledore's back stiffened at the mention of the Hallows, but Hermione continued, "One of his... artefacts- it's a Hallow."

The professor slowly turned to face her. "'It's' as in now or..."

Hermione nodded tiredly. "Yes, it's in his possession now. He hadn't known what it was in my time, probably, but now..."

This time it was her fault.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "He saw the symbol on the newspaper the other day. He recognised it yesterday and now... n-now-"

Hermione took a deep breath before admitting, "I mentioned the story of the three brothers and we talked about the Hallows. I-I tried to convince him that the Hallows didn't exist, but..."

Dumbledore heavily sat back in his chair and passed a hand on his face, halting it to cover his mouth. Hermione felt her heartbeat slow down when he widened his eyes at the gravity of the situation.

"But now he knows," he finished in a murmur. Hermione started to fidget in her chair. "Am I right into believing that the Hallow in his possession is the Resurrection Stone?"

Hermione just looked at him and her face was answer enough.

"The ring of the Gaunts," Dumbledore hummed to himself, looking thoughtful under his auburn eyebrows.

Hermione was surprised that the professor knew about the ring, but she shouldn't have been: Dumbledore was an exceptional wizard and she knew that he had been keeping an eye on Riddle since he had set foot in Hogwarts for the first time, when the future Dark Lord had been only a child. Hermione reasoned that it was possible that Dumbledore knew about the murder of the Riddles and the visit paid to Morfin.

"He's always been a brilliant student," the man said as in response to Hermione's thoughts. She recalled something that Harry had told her and Ron back in second year, after the rescue of Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets.

 _"I thought Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard,"_  Harry had said,  _"I mean, he's practically as old as the world and everyone knows him, but... he actually said that Tom Riddle was the most brilliant student that Hogwarts has ever seen... And I feel that this isn't over. I feel like I'm going to meet him again, Riddle."_

Harry had looked at his best friends, growing restless whereas he should have been much more confident and proud – he had saved a girl from certain death and killed a monster trained by Salazar Slytherin himself, after all. But no, his green eyes had turned hopeless and Ron and Hermione hadn't known what to say when he asked in a soft voice,  _"How can I stand up to someone like him?"_

"The Hallows would be very powerful weapons in Tom's hands," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair and dragging Hermione back to the present.

Not really understanding, the girl looked at her mentor questioningly.

"Only powerful wizards can master the Hallows," he clarified, tilting his head to look at Hermione over his spectacles. "The Elder Wand, if one doesn't know how to use it, is just a wand, like any other. One needs to know how to master it- even if 'master' isn't the right word. It's much more complicated than that."

Hermione had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded in any case. It's not like she was going to steal the Elder Wand from Grindelwald any time soon, so knowing how to not-master the wand of the damned wasn't a necessity.

Dumbledore picked up the teapot and refilled his porcelain cup with hot liquid. He did the same with Hermione's and she gratefully took it from his hands. The tea was exquisite and she felt her anxiety recede from her consciousness.

"We can only hope that Tom won't seek out the other Hallows," Dumbledore said, frowning at his tea. "I hope that the Stone will somehow ward him off from doing so this time. Communicating with the dead is not something he can possibly desire. If we are lucky, Tom will think of the other Hallows as direct threads to Death... not a conception he's comfortable with."

" _This time...?_ " Hermione asked in disbelief.  _Was he really suggesting-_

Dumbledore looked at her, his grave face making him look much older than he was... the image of a man who had seen and done awful and great things.

"Not all accidents occur to harm. And if you have really changed the timeline... then your mistake may save the future from Darkness."

.

* * *

.

Harry Potter was dead, but not really. It seemed that the conception of dying was much more complicated and confusing than what most people thought. One moment he was dead, the other he was in front of Lord Voldemort, the life in his crimson eyes fading to darkness as a powerful yet simple  _Expelliarmus_  broke into the green trail of the Killing Curse and struck the monster right into his chest.

The Boy Who Lived was exhausted but, afterwards, when the battle was over, he kept standing on his tired legs and helped those who were gathered in the Great Hall. He tended to the wounded and comforted parents who lost their children and children who lost their parents; he closed the eyes of the victims, thanking them in his heart for everything they had done and apologising for everything he hadn't been able to do before witnessing  _this_ , before letting the war degenerate.

Not caring if everyone saw him cry, Harry let his tears spill from his eyes for every man, woman and child who died in the attempt at saving the world.

"You should go rest, Potter," a voice called him from his side. "You have done enough... you deserve to sleep."

Harry nodded weakly at Minerva McGonagall, knowing that she wouldn't let him spend another minute in the Great Hall again since she had tried to make him go to the dorms three or four times already. The teacher gave him a strained smile before hurrying away to assist Lavender Brown, who was just waking up. Harry stood there a moment more, watching the scene unfolding in the far corner of the hall: Flitwick and McGonagall were explaining to Lavender what had happened, why she wasn't remembering anything.

"It's the shock..." Flitwick explained soothingly, still curing her major wounds. "When it's over, I promise that you still won't remember what- what happened."

But Harry had to walk away when his classmate asked what had exactly happened. He swallowed and tried not to flee while the teachers told the girl of the night before, how Greyback had assaulted her-

"Harry!"

Harry sighed when his best friend appeared in the doorway, limping. His red hair was dishevelled and his face tired, dark circles under his eyes being the evidence of the long night they had been through. Ron gave him a small smile. "Everyone's fine. Dad took them to Aunt Muriel's house. Mum doesn't want to be alone..."

There was no need for an explanation. Harry understood perfectly. He didn't want to be alone either. He wanted to stay with the people he loved.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, his eyes travelling over the hall, searching for a familiar glimpse of bushy hair. He hadn't seen her for hours, not since-

"Guess she's in the Hospital Wing," Ron shrugged. "They transferred the serious injuries there, so she's probably helping out."

Not one thought about their best friend being dead or hurt crossed their minds. She was Hermione and, well, she was the brightest witch of her age. Voldemort and Bellatrix were dead, so nothing bad could have happened to her. Still, Harry thought about the last time he had seen her and there was something amiss.

 _No, not possible_ , he thought, rejecting the idea with resolution.

.

* * *

.

She wasn't in the Hospital Wing. She wasn't in the common room either. She wasn't at the Burrow nor at Muriel's. Her parents' house was empty. Hermione was nowhere to be found.

"Should we try with a  _Patronus_?" Ron asked, his nose buried in a book. "Send her a message?"

Ron and Harry were in the library, one of the few places spared from the havoc of the battle, searching for spells that could help them contact Hermione or at least track her position.

Both boys were convinced that Hermione was alive. They had looked for her for hours, scouring the whole castle and Hogsmeade without results; but the lack of a body was something to cheer for because it meant that there was a chance for Hermione to be alive.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "McGonagall and Shacklebolt already tried. We can cross our fingers and wait for her to answer, tell us her location..."

 _Hoping that she has a wand on her_ , he thought with a cringe of his eyebrows.

"Harry," Ron frowned, throwing the book on a tower of discarded tomes, "what if a Death Eater took her- what if she's locked up somewhere we can't reach..."

"That's a possibility," Harry replied tersely, although he absolutely didn't want to consider the idea of Hermione imprisoned in a putrid cell a fucking  _possibility_. But they all had to be realistic and regard every case, any chance to save Hermione.

Muffled sounds came from behind a bookshelf and the boys tensed; their hands automatically moved, ready to draw out their wands. They released a breath of relief when a head of long, dirty blonde hair peeped in their secluded corner.

"Hello," Luna Lovegood greeted, slouching to their table and dropping herself on the closest chair. Any other day it would have been unsettling to see the girl's usual dreamy state absent, but Ron and Harry didn't notice the difference. No one did, not after- well, everything. Luna hadn't noticed the change herself: she hadn't really seen how her grey eyes were now weary and very much steady on Earth. She felt the change but didn't stop to question it.

"News?" Ron asked, leaning back in his chair with a grunt.

Luna shook her head, sighing. "Nothing. The Aurors are organising a squad to search the grounds and the forest early in the morning, but for now..."

"They are doing nothing," Harry finished for her through gritted teeth. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep in the anger. His best friend was probably out there, maybe held hostage in a sodding Death Eater's manor, or maybe she was unconscious in the Forest, the creatures of the place free to serve themselves to her flesh-

Harry banged his fist on the table, cursing the 'adults' for locking him in the castle, leaving him to idly sit and do fucking nothing.

" _You have done enough, Potter_ ," McGonagall had said, shooting him a stern look that had left no room for arguments. " _The castle or a safe house of the Order, you choose._ "

Of course, Harry had chosen to stay at Hogwarts, there was no way he could go and stay in a safe house when Hermione was missing.

"Day or night, what's the difference?" Ron asked, glaring at the pile of books. "The forest is always bloody dark."

Harry raised his head and looked at his friend, struck by the truth behind his words. He was right. Luna got up and slowly smiled at the two boys before turning on her heels and taking off for the door.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked over her shoulder.

Harry and Ron stood up and followed her with newfound determination.

.

* * *

.

Walking under the Invisibility Cloak hadn't been an easy affair. One thing was to wander about the grounds alone, another was to sneak off under the noses of the teachers in three, especially if two were tall and one was particularly clumsy.

"Ron, step one more time on my toe and I curse you, I swear!" Harry had hissed at one point, hitting the other on the arm.

Aurors were watching the Entrance Hall and most of the secret passages, but Harry hadn't felt discouraged. He was the son of a Marauder. To find an easy way out of the castle was his speciality. That's how, not many minutes later, the trio had stepped out of a narrow tunnel that ended in an invisible small door on the Clock Courtyard.

Both Ron and Harry had breathed a sigh of relief when the fresh air of the night made contact with their skin- the air in the old corridor had been heavy and the walls adorned with a cluster of dusty cobwebs and long deceased rats. Not an ideal mean of escape, but at least they had come out of the castle alive and, most importantly, undetected.

The three friends had kept the cloak on for most of their walk into the forest and had deemed safe to pull it off only when darkness completely surrounded them.

The forest was quiet and somehow nervous. Animals could be heard running away behind the thick cover of blackness, and the tall trees kept silently shuddering with each step the young wizards took, hunting deep into the woods.

"This place gives me the chills."

Ron had been muttering non-stop since entering the forest, but Harry knew what was terrifying him and couldn't blame him: they didn't know where they were actually going and somewhere, far down into the trees, was Aragog's colony.

"I find it fascinating," Luna whispered in awe, lifting her wand to inspect the peculiar environment with a dim light. Harry paused a moment to see a ghost of the old Luna come into view in her wide eyes, but he shook his head and resumed the search as soon as the memory of Hermione reminded him why they were in the Forbidden Forest in the first place.

It was cold and there was nothing but giant roots and sprigs on the ground, but Harry stopped in his tracks again when something caught his attention. Nothing he saw, but there was something that made all his senses stand in alert. Something he had felt before, not long ago.

 _This place is familiar_ , he thought, looking around. But there was this _thing_  calling to him.

"Harry, what is-" Ron started to ask, but then his eyes widened and his spine stiffened, prompting his mouth to close at once. So Harry wasn't imagining it. Ron could feel it too.

Luna stared at the trees, frowning in fascinated horror. "It's a sound."

Harry listened hard and- there. A sound. A rhythmic repetition of the same ba-bump.

_Ba-bump Ba-bump-_

The beating diminished and the trio shook off their trances when another sound reached their ears, advancing. It was near, so near.

Harry drew out his wand but kept his back to the imminent threat, waiting while trying to decipher it. An echo of trampled leaves and sprigs was making a trail in the eerie silence, getting closer. Someone was walking towards them, his footsteps silenced. But the forest still betrayed him- or her. The ground left behind crackled as the enemy swiftly neared their target.

Ron and Luna quietly approached Harry, their wands steadily held in their hands, ready to raise a collective Shield.

Whatever was to come was seconds away and the three friends braced themselves for the worst, the battle of the night before fresh in their minds- instinct, rapidity, and skills were on their side after having fought in a war. A war that wasn't over yet, it seemed.

The ground under their feet vibrated and Harry whispered, "Now!"

All three turned sharply, pointing their wands in the air, two creating a defensive Shield, one throwing a curse, " _Redu_ -"

"Wait, it's me!"

Illuminating his face with a murmured Lumos, a boy took a step forwards and held up both his hands in surrender.

Harry barely managed to shift the direction of his curse at the last moment, sending red sparks to hit a bush of thorns that immediately exploded. Millions of splinters rushed in his direction with brutal force and, caught off guard, Harry crouched on the wet soil and protected his head with his arms. Fortunately, a simple Shield held back the splinters from hitting his face.

"What the hell was that!?" Ron shrieked.

Standing, Harry narrowed his eyes at Theodore Nott, uncaring that the Slytherin had just saved him.

"Yes, what was that?" he demanded, his stare moving between Nott and the shattered bush of thorns.

Theodore shrugged. "Cursing the forest wouldn't be a wise choice, Potter."

Harry arched his eyebrows, not understanding.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked suspiciously, putting himself in front of Luna and Harry. The Slytherin rolled his eyes. "Why, Weasel, I just wanted to have a nice adventure in the woods, you should know well how gr-"

"Is that how you found us?" Luna asked abruptly, pointing at something in Nott's left hand. Harry followed her gaze but everything he saw was a glimpse of something small and rounded, silvery under the light of their wands. Nott hastily pocketed the object and looked away from Luna.

Harry studied the Slytherin boy, searching his face for something, a reason for him to be here, in the dead of the Forbidden Forest. He didn't know much of him, only that he was a quiet and studious student – his marks had always been much higher than Harry's, but, well, it hadn't been hard to get higher marks than Harry's. It was common knowledge that Harry Potter had found himself in the middle of dangerous situations almost every day, so the time left for studying hadn't been much and, again, free periods had been usually spent in the air, on a broom...

Harry had seen Nott a few times, mostly in the library, alone, or in class, at the side of Malfoy and Zabini; but the two of them had never really spoken before because the boy had never made fun of him or his friends during his six years at Hogwarts.

"Wait..." Harry said out loud, recalling Luna's words. "You were looking for us?"

Nott hesitated before answering cautiously, "Let it suffice for you to know that I felt like coming here, Potter."

"How?" Ron asked- but Harry didn't want an explanation anymore. Not when he finally understood why this place in the whole forest seemed so familiar.

He had been here the night before. He had walked through these trees to reach-

He charged ahead. Luna and Ron called him back and pleaded for him to slow down, but he was deaf to their voices. He kept running.

 _It was here_ , he thought, searching blindly through the darkness, squinting for a sliver of light...

Not believing his eyes, Harry stumbled into the glade.

"What is this?"

The glade where he had died.

"What is what?"

Where he had seen her for the last time before succumbing to what should have been an endless sleep.

"Oh Merlin."

Harry closed his eyes and remembered her face, her begging him to run away.

"Is it...?"

He saw her crying.

"Yes, it's Hermione's. Nott... you took it from that Bowtruckle before it got away and- well, thank you."

He opened his eyes again and watched the clearing where he had said her name over and over again before falling into Darkness.

"Yes, you were fast. I wouldn't have seen it. Another second and this little thing would already be inside a tree."

It was his fault. He should have protected her. He should have fought and got her away. To safety. Instead, he had chosen to die and leave all problems behind. It didn't matter that the war had been won thanks to his actions because at the time he had thought it really the end.

_Coward. I'm a coward. And Hermione... It's my fault._

Harry turned to face his companions.

Nott was frowning. "Guess I found you and this little thief here just in time then."

Harry's eyes, so full of sadness and guilt, fell on what Theodore was holding in his hands, and a bright green Bowtruckle and a tiny, purple bag stared back at him. Hermione's beaded handbag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Finally, here's another chapter and, as promised a few chapters back, Harry Potter finally makes an appearance!
> 
> That first scene with Tom and Hermione... Merlin, I had to write it three times in both POVs before I decided to give a voice to both and divide it in two scenes. I wanted to explain what's going in Riddle's head because I find this evil part of him fascinating, but I also wanted to let Hermione speak, let you see what Riddle looks like in her eyes.
> 
> I also have to apologise for making Hermione cry so much in this chapter but I want you to understand how she feels. She thinks that she won't see her friends and family again after all... Poor Hermione.
> 
> About the concept of time. I love it. My thesis was about the circularity of time from Einstein and Nietzsche's point of views and I applied all theories to Interstellar. My professors were like wtf. Aah, I'm such a nerd!
> 
> So, what do you think about this chapter? Like it? Hate it? Do you have theories about the timelines? I do have my own since I wrote a few chapters already, but I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> Ah, right. I also have to thank a Guest (please, join the site so I can thank you properly!) for giving me an amazing suggestion about the Resurrection Stone and Merope Gaunt. I'm working on it (:
> 
> Review, guys, review! Every time I read a review I grin to myself and open LibreOffice to write this story. Love you!


	8. Chapter 7 - Blind

 

I see her walk in my direction from down the corridor, sensing her presence before lifting my eyes, before hearing her voice. I concede myself a couple of seconds to look at her before slipping away into a narrow passage and get to Potions.

When I reach Slughorn's classroom in this Thursday morning, students are still mingling before the door, a mass of loud green mixed with blue. I catch Feodor's eyes when I near the crowd but I don't walk up to my classmate, choosing to lean against the wall and wait. Feodor dips his head in a faint nod and resumes his conversation with a tall and blond Ravenclaw boy – Lovegood I think is his name.

Unfortunately, Malfoy and Rosier aren't as perceptive. "Hey, Rid-"

Glaring, I let all my irritation surge forwards and halt the idiots before any of them gets Stunned on the spot. Shuddering, Abraxas inclines his head and turns away, making a girl arch an eyebrow at him. I remind myself to have a little talk with my Knights about their subtlety, or lack thereof, tonight, in our little meeting.

The teacher is late, the classroom closed, and this is odd because every schoolroom should remain open and-

And she was quietly laughing with Evelyn. But... I clench my hands in tight fists, remembering her eyes, puffy and red-

_"Why aren't you inside?"_

Is it because of me?

_"It's closed, sir."_

Surely not. I made sure she can't be in danger.

" _Hmm, weird. Alohomora. There."_

Despite the fact that she's a liar and a thief, I made sure of it.

"Tom, are you alright?"

I feel myself nod, the face of a concerned Slughorn not really in focus before my eyes.

I shouldn't care. It's not because of me.

* * *

I missed lessons. They always give me a sense of purpose, something to let my better self work hard and impress the teachers. I'm a good student because I'm disciplined and I genuinely like studying. What I'm not is a good friend and what I definitely didn't miss was the company of this herd of fools. Yes, they are ready to prostrate at my feet and kiss the hem of my robes, but they are also stupid. And loud.

"My father bought me a villa in Greece," Abraxas informs his desk-mate, a pretty Ravenclaw girl, smirking like the spoiled brat he is. "We spent New Years there, with the Minister of course."

Sitting at my table and next to a Ravenclaw boy, Feodor rolls his eyes at his cauldron; I inwardly do the same.

"Ooh, I want to visit too, Abraxas!" Parkinson sighs dreamily, latching onto Abraxas' arm to press her chest against his side. The Ravenclaw girl narrows her eyes but doesn't try to get Malfoy's attention back again. Slytherin females and their territoriality.

"So, good morning class!" Slughorn beams at us, rounding his desk to stand before our tables. His belly bounces threateningly from side to side when he claps his hands together and starts the lesson.

"Now, as I promised in September, we will have a little competition going on-"

I slightly stir in my chair and so do many others. Slughorn grins, holding a tiny vial in his chubby hand, so tiny that the golden liquid inside merrily bubbles on the surface, not really spilling from the rim.

"-to win a special prize, very special indeed! Anyone can tell me what this is?"

Feodor doesn't whip is hand in the air like other Ravenclaws are desperately doing nor he tries to attract the teacher's attention in any way other than leaning back in his stool and answering lazily – Slughorn's gaze was already wandering towards our table.

"That's Felix Felicis, commonly known as Liquid Luck, sir."

Our desk-mate, Goldstein, shoots Feodor a withering glare when old Slughorn awards our House twenty points, a generous number considering the usual fifteen for Ravenclaw and ten for Gryffindor- I'm not sure about Hufflepuff's standards, but no one ever considers Hufflepuff anyway, so there's no real fault in my knowledge.

I raise my eyebrows when the teacher goes to the blackboard to write the potion of the day. I read the name.  _He's bluffing, right?_

"This is no concoction you will find in your manual, I'm afraid," the man informs us. He confirms all my suspicions when he keeps his back to the class to write ingredients and process. "But the Felix is a rare prize, special and difficult to make, for organised competitions. I want to see all of you doing your best," Slughorn swings around and grins, "for no student has ever managed to brew a perfect Mopsus Potion. Good luck!"

I shake my head and concentrate. This is it. Liquid Luck. There's no need to convince myself that I want that tiny vial out of real necessity.

I dutifully copy everything in my notebook. I take a breath of relief when my pen touches the blank page, feeling something fall in its right place at last. I take on the task of collecting the ingredients for our table from the old cabinet (bay leaves, unicorn hair, valerian, moonseed and a few more) and dose them in three equal portions. Goldstein mumbles me a 'thank you', snatching his part of the components and setting up his cauldron with an impatience that makes Feodor almost wrinkle his nose.

 _Bloody Ravenclaws_ , he mouths over Goldstein's head before going back to cut his valerian.

I work at my usual pace, not wasting time or hastening the brewing. I'm precise, careful; I don't force the ingredients to blend before their due time, a mistake that many students are still making after six years of experience in this particular subject.

I wait for the liquid to turn to the crimson shade mentioned in Slughorn's notes before adding three strands of unicorn hair, one at the time. I don't hold my breath when the potion turns the desired amber colour, but I do smile to myself for the small success. Now I only wait thirty seconds-

"Goldstein, what the hell is that?" asks Feodor, pointing at the simmering cauldron placed in the middle of our table. Everyone raises their heads to look in our direction when loud, boiling sounds grow in the silence. I peer into the cauldron- bad idea. I immediately pull back but the awful smell is already filling my lungs.

"Turn it off, Goldstein, now!" I bark between violent coughs. I reach for my wand, but-  _My wand! Fuck, where is it?_

The potion is turning black and rising, brimming in the cauldron.

"Merlin's beard, what's going on!?" Slughorn asks in horror, attempting to get up from his chair.

The cauldron is shaking dangerously now, the mixture ready to burst-  _Where's my wand, damn it!?_

" _Evanesco! Evanesco!_ "

" _Finite!_ "

 _There!_  I see my yew wand on the floor, under my stool.

I manage to straighten my back in time to see Slughorn walking up to our table- I don't think when I knock the man back with a weak  _Expelliarmus_ , sending him flying into a corner of the room. I frantically shout, "Under the table!" and hell explodes an instant later.

The black liquid erupts from the cauldron and falls all over the floor, still boiling and hissing. To make matters worse, a thick layer of smoke shadows the classroom, making us all cough, until a shrieking scream stabs our ears.

"Abraxas! Oh, no!"

I instantly get up, my wand pointed in the air to vanish all the smoke, and then rush to the closest table, Feodor in tow.

I kneel on the floor and stare at Malfoy, jets of the potion melting into his limbs through his clothes. I fight the urge to vomit at the sight of his skin peeling off and revealing the tender and red flesh underneath.

Parkinson is sobbing, crouched near our shaking classmate. She looks up imploringly at me, "P-please Tom, do something, please!"

I don't know what to do. I've never been good at healing spells and Slughorn is out for good-

I aim my wand at Malfoy's chest.

" _Stupefy_."

His whimpers die at once.

Parkinson widens her eyes and shoots to her feet. "Why the hell have you Stunned him?! Why!"

I clench my jaw when she lifts her hand, fingers and palm flattening. For my own sake, I brace myself for the blow. It doesn't come.

"Enough with the drama, Hana," Feodor says dryly, proceeding to levitate Abraxas out of the classroom. "I take him to Madam Killick. I'll get a professor on the way."

I nod, my attention already elsewhere. I slowly get back to the centre of the room, where the rest of the class is already gathered.

"We tried to get rid of it, Riddle," a Ravenclaw girl tells me, frowning at the floor, "but it doesn't want to disappear."

I silently step in front of the group and observe the stinking black pool of what was supposed to be a safe potion.

"I-I'm sorry, Tom," Goldstein stammers from my right. I spare him a glance, a moment to see his tear-streaked face and the horror for what he has done to Abraxas. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I turn away and ignore him. I look back at the floor, my wand drawn once again.

" _Evanesco_."

Nothing. I try again, " _Delebis_."

Nothing. I narrow my eyes at the offending substance; I look back at the table and what remains of our ingredients. No stir or mistake in timing could have possibly resulted in such a revolting and hell-bent on not going away thing.

"Did you check your cauldron, Julian?" I ask, looking up at him while pushing back the others with my arms- though the gushes of liquid are smaller and weaker, the thing is still dangerously seething. "Before using it, I mean. Was it empty?"

Goldstein pales. "I-I thought it was, b-but I didn't check-"

"Riddle!"

I restrain myself from growling when Dumbledore walks briskly into the classroom.

"What happened?" the man asks, his eyes boring into mine. I keep a detached expression as he tries to read something in it.

"A cauldron exploded, Professor," I inform him calmly, stepping aside to let him see what is actually going on.

The cold blue eyes of the Transfiguration professor dart between the dark liquid and me until he finally decides to wave his wand and nonverbally Vanish the stuff.

.

* * *

.

By lunchtime, all the school knows about the exploding cauldron, the Disarmed Slughorn, and the unconscious Abraxas Malfoy. Pretty much all the students are getting creative with the backstory of the latter, it seems. I've been rolling my eyes all morning. One can't cross a corridor and not hear yet another horrific tale about how Malfoy got skinned in front of his classmates or how his hands shook with a will of their own and tried to strangle Julian Goldstein, no matter that the blond had been, without a doubt, quite unconscious when the event took place.

"I believe he may really want to strangle Julian," Feodor comments at lunch, making a face at the memory of Abraxas' body.

Evelyn, who is sitting next to her boyfriend and ignoring the many hostile glares cast in her direction, shivers.

"His parents are with Dippet now," she says softly, poking at the food on her plate. "They wanted to take him to St Mungo's but-"

"Dumbledore is curing him," Feodor finishes for her. "Yes, I've heard."

I arch an eyebrow when Evelyn makes to say something but then shuts her mouth. I let it go, quite tired and not really interested to ask what information she's withholding. Because I know she is.

The chatters in the Great Hall are more hushed than usual and I don't need to raise my head to understand why: I feel eyes piercing the very blazon of our House.

"How's Slughorn?" asks Evelyn, folding her arms over the table.

I shrug, "Fine I guess. The worst he might have is a headache. It's not like I Stunned him or anything."

"Hey, Riddle, Nott!"

My eyes snap upwards. I scowl as Darius Flint sits beside Feodor and grins – though it looks more like a sneer. A seventh-year Slytherin, Captain of the Quidditch team of our House, Flint is a huge young man, not as tall as Feodor, but still bulky and dark, his muscles a dead giveaway of his beater position.

"Clearwater," Flint nods at Evelyn, then he simply says, "We'll lose the Quidditch Cup."

 _Of course, Quidditch_. I give the older boy an impatient stare, urging him to continue.

"I'm out of two players, Riddle. Two. Avery broke his arm in DADA and Abraxas nearly got himself killed- and we face the Gryffindorks next Saturday, Riddle. Saturday. Against the bloody lions."

"So?" I ask irritably. "And wasn't Sytherin vs Gryffindor the first game of the season?"

"You don't follow the games of your own House, do you?" Flint inquires in annoyance. "That game was postponed because of Potter. I won't go into details, but the little idiot bribed Madam Hooch to let Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw go first. The bastard's scared of us snakes."

He pauses to heave a forlorn sigh and then looks at me and Feodor. "Anyroad, I need you two."

My eyes go wide for the fragment of a second. "Don't you want me to have a talk with Madam Hooch and postpone the game-"

"No, no Riddle, we can't postpone!" he vehemently interrupts me. "It took me a lot of pleading to get the teachers give us less homework so we can practice in these two weeks. We've NEWTs this year and it's no easy affair getting Merrythought and Dumbledore relent on the crazy amount of essays they-"

"You know I don't play, Flint," I shake my head.

"Neither do I," Feodor says.

At that Flint looks up and down the length of Feodor's body. "Of course you do, you have the perfect build for a keeper."

"No, I don't play Quidditch. I never did and never will," Feodor specifies unperturbed. Evelyn makes a face. "What?"

After biting her lip, she says cautiously, "Just for this once, maybe you have the chance to play something... less Muggle."

Feodor bares his teeth. "Football isn't a Muggle game. There are plenty of wizards playing-"

"Oh, Tom!"

I'm about to swear out loud when my eyes slide past Flint's impossibly wide shoulders to rest on the approaching form of Horace Slughorn.

"Tom, m' boy!" he exclaims, stretching himself over the table to squeeze my shoulder, making pumpkin juice spill from two goblets in the process. "I wanted to thank you, dear friend! I believe you saved my life!"

"I didn't-" I start to say, but Slughorn holds up a hand and gives me a broad smile.

"Thirty well-deserved points go to you, Tom! And another thirty to Mr Nott, of course! Your friends told me how you two managed to keep the situation under control while I was- well- Well done!"

Feodor and I humbly thank him, our smiles more like two identical smirks, and wave him off until he disappears from the Great Hall.

"He just didn't award you points for having knocked him unconscious, did he?" Evelyn asks indignantly.

"Oh, he did," I grin, blessing our teacher's plain favouritism. The girl huffs but doesn't say anything else, choosing to cross her arms instead.

"Well..." Flint stands from the bench and smiles down his nose at us. "See you on the pitch, Riddle, Nott."

 _Absolutely not!_  I open my mouth to object and remind Flint how much better I am at hexing people than playing Quidditch, but Flint makes a scene of walking away and then stopping in his tracks to smack his forehead and laugh.

"Ah, right," he says placidly, the trademark sneer creeping at the corner of his lips, "I forgot to tell you that it was old Sluggy who suggested you two for the replacements."

My back stiffens, but I'm careful not to let my mask slip and betray what I'm thinking and itching to do to the Captain. Feodor flushes and I pale while Flint beams, having the cheek to even wink at Evelyn.

"I'm sorry to play this card, Riddle." The nerve he has to look contrite while turning away...

I lower my gaze to my knees and stare at the fists balled against my tights. Of course Flint knows about my weakness. Every bloody Slytherin knows that Tom Riddle never says 'no' to their Head of House. He's his Favourite, Prefect, model student. Just. Fucking. Perfect.

"Should we do something about it?" Feodor asks tonelessly. I don't doubt for a second that behind the 'we' there's more than himself and me, so I shake my head.

"I don't want Dumbledore on my back again should something bad happen," I explain, "besides, we don't need other accidents. Not after Abraxas ending up in the Hospital Wi-"

"Why... should Dumbledore be on your back, Tom?"

I lift my eyes to Evelyn, who is looking questioningly at me and Feodor. Bugger. I forgot she's here. I try not to shift uncomfortably on the bench.

"Anyway, strange how the school is ready to think of this morning as an incident, right?" I observe. Evelyn knits her eyebrows and I give Feodor a firm look. "After Hogsmeade, I thought there would be more fuss over a student getting hurt. I expected panic for a possible attack or something..."

The other Slytherin has the promptness to follow my lead when I trail off. "Well, everyone knows we were in the Potion classroom, Tom. That's enough to dismiss the thing as an unfortunate incident."

"And was it?" Evelyn questions him, eyeing suspiciously the both of us.

"Of course it was, we saw it," Feodor smiles reassuringly at the girl, winning a small smile in return.

.

* * *

.

"Tom, I heard the news!"

_Bugger off!_

"Tom, you will do exceptionally, I'm sure!"

_Hmm._

"Will you replace Malfoy? You have the reflexes-"

_Salazar, help me._

"Aww Tom, I will cheer for you. You are so strong, the Gryffindors don't stand a chance!"

I roll my eyes.

"Tom, the shirt you will wear at the game... Would you give it to me? After the game, of course!"

_Of cour- What?_

"Tom."

I exhale in defeat when someone stops me from reaching my sanctuary and a well deserved hour of peace before dinner. I turn around, my eyes squeezed shut in resignation. "Yes, I know you know I will play and yes, we will win or else I won't hear the end of it from Flint and-"

"Erm," a soft voice hesitates. "I know nothing of those things..."

I open my eyes and curse myself.

"Granger."

My voice comes out cold and she flinches. I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to speak again or, worse, apologise. There's nothing to apologise for, even when the girl standing awkwardly in front of me looks positively ill, her once warm chocolate eyes still red and weary.

_There's nothing to apologise for. Not my fault._

"Dumbledore wants to see you," she says hoarsely, her gaze searching mine. "He's in his office-"

I don't let her finish. I brush past her shoulder, spitting a "Good" in her ear, the first word spoken solely for her in more than a week. There's nothing good about visiting Dumbledore, of course. Nothing good about ignoring Hermione Granger.

"Tom!"

I bite down my tongue when she calls after me, once. Twice.

"Riddle..."

I keep my fists tucked deep in the pockets of my pants, feeling her eyes boring into the back of my skull. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

I don't spend more than ten minutes in the company of Albus Dumbledore. He asks me questions, I answer. I'm not surprised by his accusatory looks but today I find myself staring back, defiantly. I'm used to making my eyes roam idly about his circular mayhem of an office most of the times I'm here – and that sadly happens more than I care to admit. But today, can't he see it? It was nothing of my doing, the incident in the Potions classroom.

Yes, he can see it. He looks raddled when he leans in his high-backed chair and I stand to get out.

"An unfortunate incident," he mutters to himself. I make the mistake of turning back to glance at the teacher, my hand hovering over the handle of the wooden door, when he catches my eyes and smiles.

"I wanted to tell you, Tom," he starts, tilting his head to study me over his spectacles, "I'm glad you found very loyal friends."

Not sure what he's talking about, I don't say anything.

"I've noticed you spend a great deal of time with Mr Nott. Miss Clearwater and Miss Granger too..."

I open my mouth to tell him that no, Granger and I are not friends, but I unfortunately remember that I'm the one who made our friendship official and signed it with a not so friendly act and then tainted it to get to punish her-

"Yes, they are very dear friends," I say easily. I don't fail to see Dumbledore narrowing his eyes slightly, but I hold his stare, all thoughts of a certain bushy head banished from my mind, at least for now.

The bearded man sighs before giving another weak smile. I take it as my cue to leave, so I open the door and step out the loathed office.

"Oh, Tom."

I clench my jaw, facing Dumbledore again, hopefully for the last time of the day.

"I look forward to the next Quidditch match."

.

* * *

.

I preferred Abraxas when he was unconscious. The major part of his skin is back, but so is also his voice; he doesn't stop talking, the Dreamless Sleep potion not really working against his will to stay awake and complain about the pain, his veins burning, his head hurting.

"Malfoy, you should sleep," I try to calm him down when he starts to talk nonsense, but the boy is adamant that he can't fall asleep again. I'm seriously considering to Stun him, but then Malfoy starts blabbering about the reason why he wants to keep his eyes wide open and I freeze.

"She stayed here all day, arrived before I woke up, was over my bed, singing-"

I regret the choice of skipping dinner to visit the Hospital Wing. I wanted the quiet of a comatose body, an excuse to be alone. But I should have known better.

"She was  _singing_ , Riddle, singing-"

She always finds a way to forcefully thrust her presence into my head.

"She's a Mudblood, for Salazar's sake," Malfoy moans, either from the real pain moving within his flesh or the idea of a Mudblood sharing the same air as his. "And she had her wand pointed at me and she was bloody singing in Latin. Tell me you wouldn't find that creepy- Whatever, her wand is obviously useless anyway. She's too Muggle to know how to work simple spells properly."

I'm too tired to remind him that Granger fought in Hogsmeade and received an Order of Merlin not many days later.

"And since when do Muggles sing in Latin?" Malfoy makes a face, shaking his head in disgust.

"I thought Dumbledore was healing you," I find myself voicing despite all the questions flooding my mind.  _Granger is healing Malfoy? Why?_

"Dumbledore?" Abraxas pauses his tirade to screw his face in thought. "No, I saw him just after waking up, but he didn't do much. He helped Madam Killick with diagnostic spells, I think."

"And Granger?"

"What about her? She left after I woke up, the creepy creature."

I roll my eyes, knowing all too well that Abraxas' stupidity isn't due to a conflict of healing potions.

"I heard about Flint," Abraxas says after minutes of silence. I lift my eyes from  _The truth of Magick – The secret arts_  by Hereward (Feodor's gift for my birthday) to fire him a glare. I'm here to escape all that foolish excitement about Quidditch, but it seems that the Infirmary isn't far enough. Now, if only I could go somewhere no one knows- I swallow at the idea of going under the castle again. I haven't been there since last year.

"-replace me?"

I fall back to the present and refocus on Malfoy's expectant face. What was he saying? The blond fights a knowing smile when, in a moment of lucidity, he seems to pick up my distraction.

"I was asking if you will replace me or Avery," he repeats, his faint smile morphing into pure apprehension.

"I will replace you," I reply, distaste clear in my voice. "Nott will replace Avery."

Malfoy nods. He starts hesitantly, "If you need advice I can-"

"I know how to fly alright," I growl, snapping my book shut. Abraxas blanches.

"O-of course, I wasn't implicating that-"

Standing up, I halt him with a smile that is genuinely fake.

"Get better, Abraxas," I tell him, grabbing my satchel from the foot of his bed before striding out of the room.

This is not good. Had I been a more modest man, I would have accepted Malfoy's offer without a second thought. What he was not implying is true. I may know how to fly on a broom but I'm definitely not an ace, like Potter is called these days, nor a champion.

My footfall stops on the third step of the staircase. I've always known it, but I'm facing it only now. Now that it's too late- I'm mediocre. I will end up being the joke of the team. No, fuck, I can't have that.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a stress-induced headache starting its slow and merciless torture at the thought that the match is next Saturday.

.

* * *

.

"Tom Riddle will play!? Blimey, can't wait to see that!"

Zaiden's eyes bulged in surprise when Feodor and Evelyn told him and Hermione the good news. The four friends were in the farthest corner of the library, a step away from the restricted section, hunched over the table- three with their noses in textbooks and one with his head happily resting on his arms, eyelids drooping every now and then.

"Go to your dorm, Feodor," Evelyn sighed wearily when her boyfriend managed to wake up in time to pass a snore for a sneeze.

"No, I will stay here," he protested again without supplying an explanation. Hermione thought the reason had something to do with Tom but she banished the idea out of her mind at once. She had to focus on her book of Ancient Runes for the test of the next day.

Worn out after hours of healing spells, Hermione read line after line trying to absorb every key-word, neglecting the prepositions, so consequently neglecting the logical order of everything she was trying to study. Never in her academic life had she caught herself studying a day before an exam. Hermione Granger would have studied weeks before a classwork, spending little of the last nights to revise her notes. But Hermione Granger hadn't been too aware of the time as of late, or to say it better, Hermione Granger hadn't been herself in the past two weeks.

If everything had felt like a dream, or probably a nightmare, before her conversation with Dumbledore, Hermione Granger now started to realise the reality of her peculiar situation; its ugliness and brutality were like a blow to the stomach and she had been feeling nauseous at every meal. She had tried to force down the food but she had always ended up retching in the lavatory minutes later. Thus she wasn't eating anymore. And to make matters worse, Hermione would now find herself crying at the most random and inopportune times. Any thought could trigger a breakdown these days: the mention of the near future, be it the following day or the following month, someone asking for the hour, a memory of her past... She just cried, her tears spilling from her aching eyes before she could even try to keep it together. One evening she had been in the library, seated not far from where she was now, and Tom had walked to her table only to find it occupied by her sobbing self. She had cried harder when he had ignored her very existence and walked away.

It was unbearable, the truth, and felt so heavy on her thin shoulders. Her voice was frail, her eyes red, and her hair fell on her back without tangles, too weak to be the mane of electric ringlets and waves that seemed to stand with the crackling of her magic from her glory days.

The denial stage had been more endurable.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

Evelyn looked at her friend, her face tilted slightly to the side. Hermione blinked, realising she had been stuck on the same page for only Merlin knew how long.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered in a feeble voice, glancing back at the highlighted rune on her book.  _Blind._

"We should call it a night," the blonde Ravenclaw said, closing her own textbook to lightly bang it on Feodor's sleeping head. "You have to sleep, Hermione. I can't begin to imagine how tired you must be. Looking after the Ferret,  _tsk_..."

Hermione attempted a smile at the selected name for the grandfather of her former nemesis, a word that Evelyn had picked up from Hermione herself and her vast selection of creative titles.

Five minutes before curfew, the four companions bade each other goodnight before separating on the moving staircase. The corner of Hermione's lips lifted slightly when her friend stared longingly at Feodor's retreating back, knowing too well how it felt to separate from a loved one, even if only for one night. She didn't want to remember how it felt to be separated for more than that- half a century away from everyone she loved. But it didn't matter how much she didn't want to dwell on the simple thought of her distance, moisture was already gathering in her eyes.

"Hermione, we have to talk about this."

It wasn't Evelyn who spoke, but Zaiden. Hermione raised her head, taking in the sight of their common room. She didn't remember how she had managed to get here.

"This isn't about stress for the upcoming NEWTs," he pressed, guiding her to the comfy couch in front of the fire. He took a seat next to her while Evelyn sat on the soft rug at her feet, her warm hands coming to rest on Hermione's knees. "Please, talk to us, we want to help you."

Hermione stilled for a moment, her eyes drawn to Zaiden. He was only a third-year boy but she could see maturity for his age, the kindness and readiness to help- so much like her best friend.

Hermione gave in a broken sob.

"Please, love, let us help you." Evelyn's words were accompanied by the steady but soothing circles of her thumb on Hermione's thighs.

They wanted to know, only to help her, but they still wanted to know what was tormenting her. Could she tell them the truth? From where and when she came, how she had thought of this as a dream, how Dumbledore now wanted her to change everything? How she needed to befriend the only person who didn't even want to give her the time of day?

"Is it because of Riddle?" Zaiden asked with a hint of anger. Hermione shook herself from her self-pity and frowned.

Evelyn bit her lip. "Is it because he's avoiding you?"

Hermione almost laughed. Naturally, the teachers and her friends had noticed it. Honestly, she didn't know why Tom Riddle was avoiding her. The reasons could be many: his anger for her lies, distrust for the lies he considered the forced-out truth, and disgust for her blood.

"I'm sure he's just confused," Evelyn offered, patting her leg. "I don't know him much but I've never seen him interested in a girl before. He'll come around, just give him time-"

"Riddle has nothing to do with it," Hermione interrupted her, if not a bit too harshly. She heaved a breath and added softly, "And I know he's not interested in me."

 _Not any more_ , she thought.

Sometimes she recalled that 'interest', that brief moment of happiness. He had been so gentle, even hesitant at first, the moment so tense and filled with promise- she had shattered that moment. She had given him a reason to hate her. A reason to violate her mind and most probably choke her to death. She had forgotten who he was: the enemy, a monster who had no qualms about killing, no reservation to obtain what he wanted. Those red eyes had reminded her- but then, the pain etched into his handsome face, contorting his features-

_"No one is born evil, Hermione. We can change the future. You can change the future. Don't you want to see Harry alive?"_

The memory of Dumbledore's request made her shiver, the memory of Harry hurting in her chest. Harry was dead.

"I'm in grief."

And she was, Hermione realised. Stages were forgotten when emotions were just wild and unpredictable. In a moment of clarity, Hermione saw it, her life and past and future, and became aware of how she really felt. No anger or frustration in between, just grief for what she had lost. Who she had lost. She was putting the past in the past, leaving it behind an infinite circle of open doors. Beyond the threshold... infinite better futures.

"It's hard to accept what I lost," she said slowly, looking at her friends in the eyes, two single tears escaping from her own. Evelyn rose to sit closer and wrap her arms around her friend's shoulders. "And sometimes I just- just want it to end. But now..."

In that precise moment, Hermione felt it. She could accept it, the death and torture and loss, not because she wanted to simply feel better, but because she actually _couldn't_  accept it, the death and torture and loss. She couldn't tolerate what had been done to her and too many others. And this was the answer to all her unspoken and unthought questions.

The future hadn't happened yet. One day, in an insignificant amount of time from now, she could see Harry alive, but only if she decided she couldn't let her past come back again in full circle.

"... now I accept it. I'm moving on."

.

* * *

.

Friday morning saw Hermione Granger get out of her bed earlier than usual after a night of insomnia. But today in a long time there was a new spark of resolution in her eyes as she descended the stairs to get to the Infirmary. Yes, the Infirmary, the dreaded place. What she wouldn't do to not step in there and suck herself dry of her own magic to help an arrogant, ungrateful, prejudiced... Slytherin.

Reached her destination, Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door. The long room was absorbed in silence. The first rays of the rising sun filtered through the thick curtains and lit slices of the tiled floor and empty beds. All except one.

Ever so quietly, Hermione passed the row opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows and stopped over the only occupied bed in the remote corner of the Infirmary. There he was, Abraxas Malfoy. Hermione had felt bad for him the day before; she had caught sight of his ruined skin while Disillusioned and searching for Dreamless Draught in the cabinet of Madam Killick- Hermione was sure the woman would have been kind enough to let her have a vial or two if she had asked, but the risk of her new problem reaching Dumbledore's ears had made her falter and then take the other route, the safe one.

She had heard Dumbledore talking to the matron about an incident in the Potions classroom. Many ingredients could have resulted in an almost lethal concoction, but Hermione, unlike the professors and matron, had no doubts. The smell of the powder had been subtle but it had hit her nostrils with the force of the memory of two identical smiles, two identical redheads, that she had discerned it among everything else. Peruvian powder was no harmless ingredient. If kept almost pure and unblended, the powder could be defined as safe, but if that were not the case... The contact of a grain only with a dangerous mixture could end in tragedy.

Hermione lowered herself on the chair next to Malfoy's bed, inclining her head to observe him. His face was so pale and his breath slightly laboured. His skin looked normal again, but Hermione knew better. In all probability the chemical reaction had reached the deepest layers of his body, peeling the delicate tissues of his muscles, his organs- she had known this yesterday, when she had revealed herself to push her way through the crowd of panicked teachers and get to work right away. She had started the healing with the most powerful spell she knew.

" _Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur..._ "

Had it been a less severe injury, Malfoy would have been alright within the first round of the incantation, but, unfortunately, the situation at hand was much different. Hermione kept reciting the spell in a soft whisper, not wanting to wake up the boy. She cringed at the memory of the day before, how she had dashed from the Infirmary, Malfoy's voice calling after her, "Don't touch me, filthy Mudblood."

She didn't want to be here, but Dumbledore had asked her help.  _Bloody Dumbledore, can't he heal the stupid Ferret himself?_  Hermione tightened the hold on her wand and gritted her teeth before setting back her lips into a thin line and closing her eyes.

 _Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur..._  Pause. The spell was effective if repeated three times. One to slow the blood flow, two to clear the residue, and three to knit the wounds. Even if there was no loss of blood involved this time, Hermione knew that Snape's spell was powerful enough to heal different types of damage, so she kept singing the Latin words in her mind. It was the first time she was trying to heal someone nonverbally. Her eyes were closed, yet she knew her magic was working, feeling it from her core reach out and entwine with Malfoy's body, the sewing of his tissue moving under the tendrils of the spell like a faint but pleasant touch of paper under her fingers.

Several minutes or perhaps hours flew by, but Hermione kept motionless in her chair, silently healing. She had sensed a pair of eyes staring right through her a while ago, but no one attempted to break the silence. Only when the magic started to fail her did Hermione open her eyes and let them fall on a pair of grey ones.

"How do you feel?" she asked, rubbing her forehead. She flinched when her own touch felt utterly cold against her skin.

Malfoy looked at her, a muscle twitching slightly in his jaw, and then sharply turned his head away.

"Good," he said, his gaze fixed stoically on the window.

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing all too well that a 'Good' was everything she would get from Abraxas Malfoy - before he would come to his senses and start insulting her. What the young man asked next, though, rendered her speechless.

"How?"

Hermione found his eyes meeting hers again. She swallowed at how familiar they seemed. They reminded her of home-  _Wait! Draco... home? I'm really going barmy._

"W-what?" she stuttered, trying to regain her composure.

"How do you know how to heal me and Dumbledore doesn't?" he asked with a dubious look.

'Professor Dumbledore', Hermione Granger was about to correct him, but she thought better of it, not really wanting to push her luck and restore Abraxas Malfoy to his obnoxious self.

"I know a spell..." she started hesitantly and then paused. The truth was that said spell hadn't been invented yet, but Dumbledore not knowing something seemed unlikely. "Well, I know this spell, so Professor Dumbledore asked me to heal you. He's busy, I think- Erm..."

_Smooth, very smooth, Granger._

Malfoy didn't seem too convinced but he said nothing, returning to stare out of the window.

Of course Hermione wasn't expecting a 'thank you', not from the Ferret's grandfather, but the fact that the boy was just ignoring her and not calling her names was a huge step forward.

Pocketing her wand back in her robes, she made to stand and leave the Infirmary. "Well, I will be back later, now I have to-"

A thought crept its way into Hermione's mind and made her pause.  _Don't tell me..._

Whipping her head to the clock, her eyes widened in terror. "Fuck!"

Malfoy raised a dark-blond eyebrow. "I don't think now's the time, Mudblood-"

"Bloody hell, I have a test in five minutes!"

Hermione stood in a flash and picked up her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder. Had she looked back for a final glance at Abraxas Malfoy before lunging for the double door, the Muggle-born girl would have seen a very faint smirk tugging at the pure-blood's lips.

.

* * *

.

"Tell me you have good news."

Harry begged Shacklebolt with his eyes, but his face fell when the new Minister for Magic shook his head, just like he had been doing for the entire week.

"Aurors are still... searching," he said, taking a seat in front of Harry.

They were in the Hogwarts Library and the sun was mentioning to disappear behind the mountains surrounding the castle. Summer was on the way but evenings in Scotland were still chilly; Luna had warmed the entire room with a spell days ago, one that Harry didn't know and didn't want to learn, so he had moved the few possessions he had from the Gryffindor dorms, making himself comfortable here. Rummaging through Hermione's beaded bag, Harry had found many useful objects. He had felt bad at first, going through her things, but if something important could be found, the bloody beaded bag was the first place to search- it was, after all, the possession of the smartest and most provident third of the Golden Trio. He hadn't been disappointed; on the contrary, he had been surprised upon finding another tent for camping, though a Muggle one. Harry had set it up in a corner of the library, well hidden by the last row of bookshelves, and slept in it for the past nights. It wasn't as big and furnished as old Perkins' tent, in fact it was just three pieces of fabric kept together, and the place was smaller than the cupboard he had slept in for eleven years at the Dursleys'. But Harry felt better sleeping, or trying to get as much rest as possible when insomnia assaulted him, in the small tent than in the empty dormitory; Ron spent the night at home and Apparated to Hogwarts in the morning while everyone else used either the dorms or their chambers.

"She is a brilliant girl," the Minister said softly, his eyes fixed on the beaded bag on the table. Hermione's books (Dumbledore's books, actually) were scattered about the place; nothing written in there was useful, not any more.

Harry didn't say anything, but the use of the present tense wasn't wasted on him. He tightened his fists. Voldemort was dead, but Hermione was nowhere to be found. Had Harry killed that monster only to lose what was most important to him, his best friend?

"I'm selfish," he said, more for his own ears than Kingsley's. "If I could go back in time and choose between killing Voldemort and saving her... I wouldn't give a feck about him. Dead or alive, I choose Hermione, even if the world falls apart."

 _I'm so selfish_ , he thought bitterly.

"I won't judge you, Harry, because I don't know how it feels," Kingsley said, his deep voice firm but kind. "But I know one thing."

Harry raised his head, waiting for the man to continue.

"Miss Granger is lucky to have a loyal friend like you."

A comfortable silence stretched between the two wizards, the older seeming to relax after a long day of work at the Ministry. Harry suspected that the man was sleeping with his eyes open when a sound suspiciously similar to a snore left his throat.

When Ron, Luna and, unsurprisingly by now, Theodore Nott arrived with a tray of warm food, the Minister excused himself and left, presumably to get back to work.

Harry didn't have much of an appetite but he forced down three spoonfuls of soup and a slice of bread under the strict eye of Luna Lovegood before declaring that he was ready to continue their research. The other three didn't object and quickly opened a book randomly drawn from Hermione's extended collection. Searching for what? Nothing in particular, though Harry's eyes always slowed down when catching words like 'location', 'summon', 'lost'. Most of the times the information had nothing to do with their necessities though, and when Harry finally stood up in jubilation, thinking he had found a potion that could reveal Hermione's whereabouts, that revealed itself to be a concoction to break spells on objects.

Harry was about to close the book and toss it back on the pile of discarded volumes when Luna stopped him, "Wait!"

The girl stood and rounded the table, coming to stand beside him; looking down at the page, she read out loud, "Occulted objects".

Theodore snapped his head upwards and parted his lips in a perfect 'O'. Harry frowned, still not seeing why a Slytherin was here, helping them, but he didn't get to voice his doubts when something he' had never deemed possible happened: Luna cursed under her breath. That made Ron look up as well in amazement. The boys followed the pacing of the girl for a moment until she decided to halt.

She smiled. Really smiled.

"Of course! Even if our magic doesn't reach her... even if a Patronus can't sense her presence... That's it, that's it!" The blonde grinned and Harry gave her a weak smile in return, even if he couldn't see the sense of what she was saying. Ron was clearly in his same situation if his furrowed brow was anything to go by.

Theodore, on the other hand, was shutting his book and shaking his head, muttering, "Of course, that was obvious-"

"Well, it seems that someone finally got somewhere," a familiar and cold voice interrupted the excitement. Dramatically emerging from the shadows, a man with a hooked nose stepped in their corner of the library. He was dressed in practical dark robes that seemed to hang about his body like a curtain of black air and his skin was pale, but not as much as it had appeared in the past days. A thick gauze band framed his neck, concealing what, Harry knew, the reminder of a war fought for years was slowly healing into a scar.

"I was just coming to check how far you've got after nights of arduous work," Snape continued in his drawl, stepping closer to the table to inspect the discarded pile of books. "I, of course, came to the same conclusion of Miss Lovegood only this evening."

Harry had found a new respect for the man after the Battle, but he was too exhausted to play his games tonight.

"You knew, Sna- Professor?" Harry demanded, falling back into his chair.

The man arched an eyebrow and then curled the corners of his lips in a contemptuous smile. "As I said, Potter, I came to Miss Lovegood's same conclusion only now. And, if I'm correct in my assumption, you need to brew a potion- and a difficult one at that-"

"If you intend to stick by-" Harry started to say, but Nott cut him off before the worst could be said.

"Will you help us, sir?" the Slytherin asked after shooting a glare in Harry's direction. "The ingredients won't be a problem, but the process isn't simple. If you have else to do, I understand... But, well, you're a Potions Master, if one can help us, that is you, sir..."

 _He's good_ , Harry thought. Theodore Nott knew how to push the right buttons and stroke the already inflated ego of the Dungeon's bat. Harry had known only two people as good as him, one being himself and the other the man he had killed not many days before.

"I do have other important affairs to attend, but I will make an exception this time," Snape replied with a sneer. "After all, Miss Granger is one of the few students with more than a brain cell to whom I've had the pleasure to teach."

And with that surprising last note, the Potions Master left the library with another dramatic show of his robes billowing behind him like smoke.

Ron blinked. "Well, such a cheery meeting."

.

* * *

.

If Harry had hated and mocked Slytherins for pure House rivalries, now he thought he couldn't have been more stupid in all his six years of school. Nott was a Slytherin in any possible way, from his typical pure-blood, arrogant pronounce to his cunning and manipulative character, but Harry found himself liking the boy. Quiet and accustomed to being alone, Nott was also patient and ready to explain difficult topics to both Harry and Ron until the two Gryffindors grasped the general theories behind them.

Bright rays of sun were shimmering on every surface in the Potions classroom the following day. Perched on the desk, Harry turned his face towards the window so the light could warm his face.

Ron was cutting ingredients on the table, per Snape's order, while Luna and the professor himself were in the Forbidden Forest, looking for only they knew what.

"So, Occulting objects ensures that no one can find them," Nott was explaining to the other two, standing against the window with his arms crossed over his chest, "but with the right potion or spell, they can be found. To break the Wards, though, that's another story."

"But Hermione isn't an object," Ron protested, pausing momentarily from his task.

"Nor she's Warded- probably," Nott assented. "And the chances that she's been Occulted are even slimmer. We know that she's not dead for sure-" Ron's intake of breath echoed in the room, "because there's no date of decease in the Ministry's records." Another sharp intake of breath.

Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes. "So, what we need to do is..." he prompted, still not understanding the 'how' part and why they were making a potion for Occulted objects when Hermione hadn't been Occulted herself.

Nott didn't sigh or appear annoyed by Harry's lack of knowledge but just continued his explanation. "What we need is to make the potion, drink it, and touch something that Granger kept close to her- something she cared for will do. Who drinks the potion should see the location of the object's owner, even if she's been Occulted. How, you'll ask. I'm not sure, but... I think there's some kind of essence of ourselves in what we care for, objects and people. Like a reminder of our magic, parts of ourselves that remain but long to reunite with us..."

"Ten points to Slytherin."

Snape entered the classroom, going straight to the desk from which Harry quickly got off. Luna stepped in a second later, her arms full of roots and sprigs.

"I hope that what Mr Nott kindly explained has entered that empty skull of yours, Potter," Snape said acidly, lighting the fire for the cauldron.

Harry ignored him and went back to the thread of thoughts that Snape had interrupted.

"When you said that... part of ourselves remain in objects and long to get back to us- well, that sounds awfully similar to how Horcruxes work," Harry observed. Ron nodded, making a face of disgust.

Nott agreed. "Yes, that's true, but Horcruxes involve the soul and a dark spell. Mine is just a hypothesis, of course, but it has nothing to do with spells or voluntary actions. Our touch, our magic just leaves a trace. Like a memory. Though 'trace' is actually the best term I can come up with."

Luna hummed appreciatively at Theodore's simplification of thousands of theories on the subject and skipped to Ron to help him with the dosage of the ingredients.

"If a shred of one's magic lingers in an object," Luna intervened, picking up a knife and a box of bay leaves, "the potion will enable the drinker to sense the longing and the direction of that magic. In short, it doesn't matter how well concealed an object is, a trace goes beyond any type of spell. It aims directly at the source of the trace itself."

Harry understood. It made sense, but a piece of the puzzle was still missing. He squinted his eyes, trying to follow the twisted train of thoughts uncoiling in his head. "Yet you said the drinker must hold something Hermione cares for. If the Occulted object had been, in fact, an object, not a person, what would you-"

"In that case, the drinker should either be the owner of the object or know it on a certain level," Nott answered confidently and in what Harry considered perfect Hermione's behaviour at her worst. "A touch should be enough. Holding a piece of the object or something that's been close to it should also do. Don't think too much about it, Potter. Granger is a person, our potion is going to work fine."

"So, Occulted objects don't have anything to do with Hermione, right?" Harry tried again, wanting to get to the crux of their dilemma. "Why this potion then?"

This time it was Snape who answered. "This potion is known to Locate Occulted objects, but as Mr Nott and Miss Lovegood told you, the mechanism remains the same for every object or person, Occulted or not. What's important is the trace."

The man turned sharply around to levitate Ron's ingredients into the cauldron with precise and short movements.

"What I- we are going to brew is called the Tiresian Potion," he went on with the lecture, motioning for his ex-students to step closer to the simmering cauldron. "It's been used for centuries, starting, perhaps, by the Minoans. Part of the process is similar to the Mopsus Potion."

Harry frowned when Snape shut up, offering no more information about the last mentioned potion. The professor curled the corners of his mouth downwards and Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes when the once loathed man returned to his usual venomous tones - which he used to address his least favourite student.

"Your ignorance never ceases to astound me, Potter," he remarked, stirring the mixture boiling under their noses. "But I shouldn't be so surprised that you can't recall a whole month of lessons spent on ancient potions, I know well by now that nothing I teach you enters that head of yours."

Harry's face and neck turned red in embarrassment and anger, but Luna's steady hand on his arm kept him from vocalising the cutting retort that was ready on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed and waited patiently.

Snape didn't look at him when he explained reluctantly, "The Mopsus Potion, as I said many times in your fifth year, offers the drinker seer-like powers. They can see the future. Still, the brewing is less complicated and the results less certain. Like the Sybil, the drinker must interpret whatever he perceives. The Tiresian Potion, on the other hand, is difficult to brew and has different effects, obviously. I've never tried it myself, so we'll find out on the way."

"How many days until the potion's completed?" asked Ron.

Harry stifled a laugh when his best friend swayed on his legs, but then noticed that his blue eyes appeared glassier than normal and a faint idiotic grin was painted on his face. Nott wasn't much different, though the grin was more contained.

Snape tore his eyes from the cauldron when Luna giggled at nothing in particular. He answered Ron's question with a smirk, "More like two hours and seven minutes, Weasley."

Nott took a step back from the desk and stumbled into a chair. Luna giggled harder. Ron, who clearly hadn't seen the Slytherin fall on his arse, was blissfully looking into space.

Harry shook his head and moved to open the window; the scent hanging around them was heavy and relaxing, but it was starting to be too much even for his nostrils. He was already feeling quite dizzy.

The first hour was flowing like nothing. Snape worked on the potion while Ron and Harry sat motionless on the floor, in rapture with the tiles. Ron said that the black tiles were moving diagonally, but Harry swore that the white tiles were moving, and horizontally at that. They started to bicker until Theodore intervened to inform them that the tiles were perfectly still: the walls were what was moving.

"Aaah," Ron nodded, cocking his head towards the ceiling, his eyes sliding from wall to wall. "Yeess, that's riight..."

When sixty minutes ticked by, the room abruptly stopped spinning and everyone but Snape felt like falling, even when all feet were securely attached to the ground.

"You took the antidote," Nott spat at his former Head of House, his eyes narrowed to accusatory slits.

"The scene you four made was more amusing than expected," Snape chuckled. "And I had the antidote only for two persons. One now."

Luna sang softly during the major part of the second hour, but Harry knew that hers wasn't a chemical reaction.

Finally, everyone jumped to their feet when Snape lifted his black head from the cauldron and announced that the Tiresian Potion was finished. They walked back to the desk and anxiously watched Snape pour the potion into a small vial. The scent was weaker than before but still pleasant; it reminded Harry of the summer rain, warm nights spent on the beach, an unconditional sense of freedom... nothing he had experienced before, but the picture was clear in his head.

He smiled, looking at the vial of liquid placed on the table, thinking that it looked like-

"Liquid glass," Luna breathed.

The potion was as transparent as water, but uneven, as if thin plates of ice were colliding against each other; this gentle, continuous movement seemed to catch the light of the room in a spectrum of colours. It really was beautiful.

"We don't have much time," Snape reminded them, the beauty of his creation not affecting him in the slightest. "It must be drunk within ten minutes, but the sooner, the better."

The four friends looked up questioningly.

"Who-" Ron started to ask, but Luna halted him.

"I will drink it," she said resolutely, taking Hermione's beaded bag from Harry's hands. She didn't offer an explanation and no one objected. Harry suspected that his friend knew what it was like- seeing things. Other people didn't appreciate her... difference. But he believed her.

They held their breath when Luna brought the vial to her lips and drained the potion with no hesitancy.

Harry silently counted, one, two, three seconds in which Luna kept staring in front of her and then-

"I'm blind," she said calmly.

Ron panicked and started to shout for Snape to get the antidote, but the professor held up a hand, silencing him.

Luna's face gradually changed from calmness to alarm... to fear. Nott swallowed audibly when the girl braced her hands on the desk, her breath getting ragged, her face paler.

"E-Everything's dark..." she choked out, a trembling hand clutching her chest. "She's lost, she's lost..."

Snape hurried to Luna's side and took hold of her elbow before she could fall.

"It's alright, my dear, you are here, with us," he soothed her, wandlessly pulling a chair forwards to make her seat with rare gentleness. "We are with you. We stay with you wherever you go, whatever you see."

Snape crouched before her and clasped her shaking shoulders. "Where are you, Luna? What do you see?"

Her eyes were fixed on the blackboard, glassy and wide. Her tremors slowly subsided.

"She's here." Her voice was different. Detached.

Harry, Ron, and Theodore shared a brief look.

"Here? In this classroom?" Snape asked.

"No," Luna whispered. "She's here, in the castle. I see the castle."

Ron was about to run for the door.

"But... She's here, but not  _here._ "

Harry brought a hand to his mouth.

"Follow the trace, Luna," Snape said. "Find Miss Granger."

Luna kept silent for a moment.

"A door. There are stairs... wait- I... I see her. She's on the stairs with a man... I see Dumbledore."

Harry felt his chest constrict.

"Hermione is...is-" Luna tightened her fists in her lap. She was struggling with her words. "So much anger, feeling so much hatred- A man... wants to kill him. See his blood."

"Who is he?" Snape inquired, his hands still firm on Luna's shoulders.

"I can't see- so much blood..." Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Luna was visibly fighting with emotions that were not her own.

Turning his face to Theodore, Harry hissed in his ear, "I thought she was supposed to only  _see_  where Hermione is!"

"I thought so too, Potter," he whispered briskly, questions reflected in his wide blue eyes. "I don't know what's going on!"

The two boys looked back at Luna. She was panting but seemed to have calmed down under Snape's reassuring words.

"We are with you, Luna," the man was saying, "you are safe. You can come back-"

Luna gasped for air. "Hermione. She wants to come back, but she's lost. She's lost..." Tears were running on her cheeks. "She doesn't want to stay. She can't look at him."

"Who, Luna? Who can't she look at?" asked Snape.

Silence. Then, after an interminable amount of time, "The man."

"Describe him."

"He's- Young. Tall. He has black hair- his eyes are... I can't see, there's so much blood."

Harry felt something strange. His lungs weren't working right.

"Is he a student?"

"I can't- Yes... Someone is calling him... Red eyes, red, she wants to see his red blood, kill him-"

"The name, Luna," Snape pleaded between the girl's incoherent words, "can you tell us the name?"

She stilled before answering. For the first time since the beginning of Luna's agony, her voice was unwavering. The name sounded too clear, the tone too cold for them all to miss it.

"Tom."

Harry fainted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally an update! And with a long chapter.
> 
> So, Snape is back! I was dying to write him, I mean, I love the man.
> 
> I realised I'm creating complicated theories here. Everything's clear in my head, but I don't know if I've been able to explain it well through this chapter and the previous one. What do you think? Is it too much?
> 
> If you liked the chapter, or hated it, please, consider leaving a review. Two things inspire me in this lonely world: chocolate and reviews. And Depeche Mode as of late, but mostly reviews. I love reading about your own love for Tom (you rarely mention Hermione or the others, now that I think about it). Have questions? Ask. Critique? Never hesitate.
> 
> Until the next chapter. Peace out!


	9. Chapter 8 - Red

 

The room was packed with more people than Harry had expected. All chairs were taken and many were those standing against the wall, in the back – Charlie and Bill Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, Rubeus Hagrid and more. This was, after all, a meeting of the last minute.

Kingsley had contacted the Order and a Ministry official to discuss a matter of 'the utmost urgency' only one hour ago. Molly had prepared the kitchen in Number 12 Grimmauld Place without questions asked, several seats had been hastily conjured and all other engagements cancelled.

Harry had thought, when the meeting had begun, that there was hope if the number of people Kingsley had cared to involve was anything to go by, but now he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Impossible!"

"How can we be sure of it-"

"The words of a little girl-"

" _Order_..."

"A seer?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead-"

"That's not the point- Believe a Lovegood?"

" _Order_..."

"The Granger girl-"

"But a Lovegood, real-"

"ORDER!"

Shutting up at once, everyone turned their eyes towards the head of the table where the Minister for Magic was standing, his narrowed eyes silently reproving the crowd.

Unfolding his arms, he sighed, "We know that what we're asking sounds dangerous-"

"Dangerous!" Aberforth stood. Harry craned his neck to look past the many backs and shoulders seated next to him on the bench and saw the man in question shake his head in disapproval. "It's a suicide mission!"

Voices started to rise again but Kingsley held up his hands.

"Yes, it might be," he said calmly, looking at Aberforth, who was still standing. "But we talked with an important source… We believe... that we can go back in time and save Hermione Granger- take her to the present, where she belongs."

"Who's the source?" Hestia Jones asked.

The Minister smiled, "Albus Dumbledore."

Aberforth scoffed loudly, but the others didn't try to interrupt the silence that descended upon the kitchen this time. The air was filled with anticipation.

"We asked his portrait and, strangely enough, he has memories of a Miss Granger- showing up on Halloween night- but nothing more."

"Impossible," the other sullen Dumbledore kept muttering, shaking his head, even knowing all too well that nothing in the wizarding world was impossible.

"And he doesn't remember anything else? How come?" Hestia asked again, frowning.

This time the answer came in a familiar drawl from the back of the small, crowded room. Harry twisted his back to look at the man. He was leaning against the wall, the look painted on his face one of sheer disgust, but Harry knew better because whereas many people hid behind fake smiles, Snape's cold looks were an armour, built on arrogance and apathy, to fend off people who tried to befriend him, offering happiness and love – people like Hermione or Luna or Dumbledore. People like Lily Evans. After decades, Snape's sneers were an armour to protect himself from being hurt again.

"We believe that Miss Granger hasn't been in the past for long," Snape said in a dispassionate voice. "Should anything happen in the past, the only person who can tell us, Albus Dumbledore, might obtain more memories of her. But nothing has changed yet."

"But if we go back- what if she isn't there..." Minerva McGonagall's voice trembled. Her face was paler than usual, but, of course, Hermione had been very close to their Transfiguration professor, now Hogwarts Headmistress.

"She should be there," Snape said, a corner of his mouth lifting imperceptibly upwards. "Time is a circle. What happens in the past changes  _our_  future."

Harry remembered his third year, how he'd gone back in time. With her. And he knew, he knew, that he could save her. He had done it before for Sirius and he would do it again for her.

"But we must move fast," Kingsley added and all attention returned on that imposing presence that seemed to absorb half of the room. "Hermione Granger has been in the past for only a few days, but we don't have much time. Anything might happen and we don't know what a small change can cause..."

Harry looked at Ron. His eyes said it all.  _We know._

Messing around with time could save lives that had already been given for dead, but the opposite could occur as well. Time was dangerous.

"Rapidity is what we need-"

 _Anything_  could happen. If Riddle were to go near her, know her, hurt her, kill-

No. He wouldn't allow it.

"And a team, someone willing to go back and ready for possible-"

"I will go." Harry rose from his chair and stared into the Minister's eyes with resolution. Ron immediately followed him, nodding, "Me too."

At that, Molly Weasley leapt to her feet and faced his son, red in the face. "Absolutely not! You are not going anywhere."

"I'm an adult!" Ron said in disbelief. "I can go and I will!"

Molly was about to counter sharply but her husband placed a placating hand on her shoulder, reminding her that this was not the time nor the place for one of the infamous Weasley's discussions.

"Harry," Kingsley started slowly, regarding the young man with uncertain dark eyes, "are you sure? You just got out from, well..."

"So has Hermione," Harry said. "And she's there, with Voldemort-"

Half of the room flinched at the name.

"- and if someone can save her, that's me."

Now, the fact that  _only_  he could save her wasn't exactly true, as Harry and the young Tom Riddle wouldn't have now the connection they had had before, and most people in the kitchen knew as well, but no one tried to talk him out of his decision.

Kingsley hesitated and then gave a curt nod. "Anyone else?"

No one stood or answered at first, but then-

"Here."

Harry whipped his head as an unexpected voice cut the silence. Theodore Nott, a Slytherin that had nothing to do with the Order, was looking directly at Kingsley, his arm lifted halfway in the air. "I will go."

Almost everyone arched an eyebrow, but the Minister merely asked, "Why?"

The boy shrugged before giving his infuriatingly evasive answer, "Because I helped to discover where Granger is and I'm curious."

Ron and Harry shared a look.

"And Potter wouldn't last an hour in the past," Nott added with a smirk, "not with Weasley. He tried to get the Forbidden Forest to kill him the other night."

Flushing, Harry opened his mouth to retort, but a slightly dreamy voice interrupted him.

"I will go too, then," Luna said, smiling.

"Children!" Mrs Weasley squeaked, fidgeting on the bench. "They are children! We can't possibly let them go-"

For the second time that evening, Mr Weasley stopped his wife from giving in maternal hysterics in front of the whole Order with a soothing hand on her back.

"They are not children, Molly," he said wearily, though his eyes betrayed the same concern of the woman sitting beside him. "It's their decision to make."

"B-but," Mrs Weasley stuttered, her face pleading Kingsley to help her cause, "they are young, just got out from a w-war, surely s-someone should accompany them-"

"I will."

Impossible. Not in a hundred years or more Harry Potter would have expected to hear Severus Snape of all people offer his help to save an infuriating know-it-all. Brewing a potion to locate her was one thing, but travelling to the past, getting into a 'suicide mission', as Aberforth had called it, was completely different.

Harry stared at his ex-professor and the man stared back. There were several reasons why Severus Snape wanted to aid them. With one long, steady look, though, the boy understood and needn't question the decision of the older man any more.

Harry simply turned around and addressed Kingsley. "When do we go?"

* * *

The meeting drew to a close at midnight, after three hours of planning and answering questions and more planning. The Ministry official had revealed himself to be an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries, the same one Harry and his friends had done their best to destroy two years before. The man had explained how their journey could, theoretically, take place using a modified Time-Turner. The Ministry still had a few intact objects saved from that unfortunate accident and the eternal storm of sand that had followed, and they were secretly guarded in the deepest levels of the building.

"These are dangerous objects we're talking about... but I'll be able to steal one," the Unspeakable had informed them. "To travel between years, there's a spell… it's not really dark, but in the Grey area... I'll teach you in due time. Journeys of more than one day using our Time-Turners... the risks are high- but I won't give you my opinion as it hasn't been requested and nothing I could say will change your mind, as I understand."

The Unspeakable, a little bespectacled man with big black eyes and a long nose, had given Kingsley a pointed look and then turned sharply for the door. Harry had had the suspicion that the man had been coerced to help the Order- and by the Minister himself at that.

"It isn't illegal, right?" Harry asked Ron minutes later, climbing the narrow staircase. "What we are going to do? We're saving Hermione."

Ron turned his wide eyes on his best friend. "'Course it is! Haven't you heard? Steal Time-Turners. Kingsley could get himself in troubles just for that, not to talk about using one with Dark Magic."

Shivering, Ron paused on the landing and looked anxiously at the doors before him. The old bedrooms. They had slept here, in this house, in these rooms, before hell had broken out, less than a year ago, and the Trio had been forced to go into hiding for several months.

Just for this occasion, Molly had agreed to spend the night in Grimmauld place, though Harry had hesitated at first: too many memories encircled this place, bad memories. And the absence of Hermione didn't help.

Tossing and turning, Harry didn't get much sleep that night. Images of Sirius and Remus and even his father haunted him. And her voice kept him awake. It was with great relief that Harry descended the stairs and went into the kitchen when the first reddish lights of the morning peeped through the windows.

Mrs Weasley was already by the stove, cooking breakfast for everyone. Harry felt a sudden surge of affection for the witch he considered by now a surrogate mother, seeing her like this, busy with the pans and the floating slices of bread, muttering to herself the list of things to do for the day.

"Oh, Harry dear!"

Harry started when Mrs Weasley whirled around to see him standing by the door.

"Why up so early?" she asked, gesturing for him to take a seat.

Harry merely smiled, sitting down on the creaking bench and thanking her when she poured him a cup of tea. The woman studied him for a moment.

"Didn't get much sleep, did you?" She gave him a knowing look.

"Just a couple of hours I guess," he replied honestly, adding a generous amount of orange jam on his bread. With a new mission ahead, something real to act upon, Harry was glad to find his appetite back, if not doubled.

Ten minutes later, Theodore, Ron and Luna entered the kitchen, the latter with a deep crease between her eyebrows, and Mrs Weasley excused herself to go upstairs and get some cleaning done. Harry was standing to go after her and offer his help – this was his house and to have someone else clean it made him feel definitely uncomfortable - but Luna's greeting stopped him.

"Dawn's red today," she stated, pouring herself a mug of coffee. "It's not a good sign."

Ron grunted in his mug and Harry blinked, but Theodore glanced at the girl, waiting for her to say something else. He cleared his throat when she didn't.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Luna gave the boy a stiff smile. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

Theodore didn't say anything else after that and everyone felt the weight of his silence, and Luna's, during most of the day.

Bill, Fleur and Charlie dropped by after lunch, three identical sad expressions on their faces, and Percy arrived in the late afternoon.

"George... he couldn't come," he said, an apologetic smile directed at them and his mother.

Mrs Weasley repressed a sound of agony in her throat, nodding, and Harry once again felt wracked with guilt. It was his fault if George had lost his twin brother, his partner in crime, his best friend, no matter how many times Ron told Harry that the war was bigger than them, that it had always been. But George... he hadn't left the apartment above the shop since the end of the war. The pain was too great, Percy said.

By 7 pm, all members of the Order had come and gone, each one to bid farewell and wish luck to the young travellers. Of Severus Snape, not a shadow.

"He's at Hogwarts," Mr Weasley informed them at supper, "for the last details."

The tension was palpable in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley wasn't getting much of the food in her mouth as her hands shook and everything on her fork kept falling on her plate. Her eyes stole glances at his youngest son every ten exact seconds.

Like Mrs Weasley, Harry's eyes too kept lifting, but towards the door. He couldn't believe it. After everything he had done to protect her, after defeating Voldemort with the only hope of a normal life afterwards, with her- still, Ginny didn't come.

"She's at Muriel's, Harry," Bill said gently, catching the resignation on his face. Fleur, who was sitting beside him, offered him a small smile. "She said she couldn't do it- you know... say goodbye again."

Harry understood but it still hurt. He loved Ginny, so he couldn't blame her. In her eyes, it might have seemed like the umpteenth attempt at running away from normalcy. Maybe it was true.

"Not even for her brother, huh..." Ron gave a bitter laugh, stabbing his treacle tart with the fork.

"Ron..." Mrs Weasley looked at him with a weak smile and then turned her imploring gaze to Harry, Luna and Theodore too. "It's not too late, someone else can-"

Mr Weasley, Bill, and Charlie stopped her at the same time.

"Mom!"

" _Molly_..."

Harry looked at Mrs Weasley, his mother, with sorrowful eyes, taking in the worry etched on her face and the still shaking hands now held by her husband.

"I'm sorry," he told her, really meaning it. "But I- we must go. Hermione is in danger, I can't let someone else save her."

.

* * *

.

They arrived at Hogwarts fifteen minutes before midnight, but everything changed in the span of a minute. Humans, these imperfect creatures led by instincts, reason, and worse of all, feelings. Harry looked at himself, ready to jump into the void of time and, if necessary, face death for the purest concept of love- a feeling that had revealed itself to be his most lethal weapon against Voldemort - and then he looked at his best friend. Resolute and cold blue eyes saddened within seconds and the conflict of feelings was clear on his freckled face.

In the middle of the Entrance Hall, Harry sighed and looked at the retreating back of Lavender; he could see her whole body trembling with silent sobs. Meeting her on their way to the dungeons had been an incident. To avoid the inhabitants of the castle was essential at a few minutes from what could possibly be their last journey, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

Heaving a forlorn sigh, Harry cringed at how easily he had lied to Lavender before shaking her hand goodbye and at how Ron was now blinking, his gaze lingering on the back of his ex-girlfriend, bruises still healing on her arms and her covered limbs, her blonde hair catching the dim light of the torches.

"H-Harry..." Ron whispered, looking back at his friend, moisture gathering in his eyes. Luna and Theodore were already in the dungeons.

"Harry... I can't..." Ron's breath caught in his throat and Harry's heart sank. But he understood. Harry's feelings were commanding him to proceed while Ron's were battling over the few options he had. His slightly quivering lips said it all though, the path he couldn't follow.

"H-Harry-"

"I know, Ron," Harry said with a sincere smile, squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Don't be. I understand."

Ron covered his face with his sweating hands, groaning. "God, I'm the worst best friend in the world."

"You are not." Harry punched him lightly on the arm. "You have to stay. You have a reason to stay."

The redhead gave in a broken laugh. "I have a reason to go with you too."

"You  _had_ ," Harry corrected him, "but now you have another to stay. One that's equally important. And I'm not blind, I can see that you want to stay... I won't hold it against you."

Ron laughed again, lifting his head not to let the tears bathe his face; Harry ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Listen," he said, grasping both Ron's shoulders. The other boy had a bitter, lopsided smile on his lips, the one he always wore when he confessed feeling guilty after a fight with Hermione and wanted to apologise. "You stay. You want to. I'm not saying it because I don't want you with me, with us, but because... because Lavender needs you and you need her. Hermione won't let you live, not knowing that you had an important reason to stay."

Ron nodded and Harry pulled him in for a man hug.

"Be happy, mate."

* * *

"Where's Weasley?"

Theodore arched an eyebrow when Harry walked into the Potion's lab, alone. Luna frowned and Snape sighed.

"It's just us," Harry replied with a steady smile.

The other three were standing in the middle of the classroom, two pairs of legs nearly shaking; Snape was holding a familiar and shining necklace in his hand. The Time-Turner. The object was glowing and Harry knew that whatever spell would take them back in time had already been placed.

"Do you know how to use it to come back?" Harry asked, pointing at the Time-Turner. "The spell?"

The Potions Master eyed him with disdain and questioned instead, "Do you all have everything you need?"

All three nodded, patting their pockets.

"Good." Snape dragged in a deep breath, the first sign of humanity shown in a long time. "We should appear in this very room on the 31st of October 1943. It's night and the kids should be in their dorms, but I won't take any chances, so be ready to use Potter's cloak or a Disillusionment Charm. Remember, we must not be seen."

The man looked pointedly at each one of them, the danger clear in his obsidian eyes.

"Remember, there's a reason why we are going in a number of four, we have a higher chance of finding Granger if we collaborate. With a little help from the Gods, we might even get out of there in a matter of hours. We stick together. No one leaves the other behind. We avoid people, creatures, portraits and the walls-"

Harry huffed in irritation. "Let's go and be done with it!"

Seconds of silence ticked by and, finally, Snape took the Time-Turner and slowly, very slowly, held out the long chain. Luna lowered her head first, a little smile of excitement on her lips, and Nott followed her. Harry did the same and at last Snape pulled the chain behind his still bandaged neck.

All four held their breath as the ex-Death Eater turned the loops around the hourglass three times.

One second passed. Two. At the third, the world started spinning and a blinding light flashed frenetically all around them.

It was so painful. Time was dragging them by ankles and wrists, pushing them on their backs, punching them in the stomach. Lungs constricted, eyes squeezed shut-

When Harry opened his eyes again, groaning, the world was still, but his head wasn't. Gasping for air, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked down his crooked spectacles, taking in the floor he was kneeling on.

"W-When-" he stuttered, trying to stand and failing. "When are we?"

The other three grunted in response. Apart from their gasps, silence reigned on the castle. Harry managed to turn his head towards the small window, but the sky was too dark to see anything at all.

"Is it Halloween?" Theodore asked, standing up only to sit down again in the nearest chair.

Snape, who was already standing against the door, drew out his wand from the sleeve of his robes and swirled it in the air.

"Fuck."

Harry leapt to his feet. "What? What day is it?"

In the bluish light of their wands, Snape looked at him. "22nd of December 1943."

Theodore cursed under his breath and Luna sat up on the floor and leaned her head back against the legs of a desk.

"W-What?" Harry shook his head, trying to understand. It wasn't possible. They had studied and revised their plan over and over again, 99% sure that the fucking spell would take them to the right day-

Sighing, Luna turned on all the lamps in the classroom and warded the door. The room was like they had left it minutes ago. Six rows of desks were disposed in two columns, scratches and engravings decorating the surfaces, the same old cupboard abandoned in the back, and a stone basin placed in the corner.

"That means that Hermione isn't here yet, right?" Harry asked to no one in particular, his eyes roaming over the familiar environment, not sure what he was looking for.

Snape, who was taking off the Time-Turner, stopped mid-action. Three pairs of eyes turned on Harry.

"That means that she's been here for more than a month, Potter," Theodore answered through gritted teeth.

Harry's jaw slackened. Time. Circularity.  _Fuck._

More than a month. Everything might have happened in more than a month.

Finally deciding to leave the floor, Luna stood in a smooth motion. "We can only hope that nothing has changed," she said softly, dusting herself off.

"We could-" Harry started, but Snape cut him off.

"We won't go back again," he said in a tone of finality.

* * *

Not trusting themselves to walk into the Gryffindor Tower in a group of four, Harry and Luna volunteered to go and look for Hermione while the other two hid in the Room of Requirement. Only that Hermione wasn't in the Gryffindor Tower. And in the Hospital Wing. And the library. It all felt like a déjà vu.

"Where the hell is she?" Harry exclaimed, flopping onto the couch once he and Luna had returned to the Room of Requirement.

The Room had taken shape into a more comfortable and heavily revised version of the Hogwarts Library and a merry fire was crackling in front of the couch and two armchairs. Nott was dozing off on one of them, the closest to the fireplace, but Snape's eyes were wide open and staring ahead in deep concentration.

"She must be in another House, I know she's here, this is the only explanation," Snape was muttering to himself.

"We'll look for her tomorrow morning," Luna assured Harry after moments of silence. She kicked off her shoes and sat beside him, tucking her knees under her chin. "No one will see us, but we'll see everyone."

Snapping from his train of thoughts, their ex-professor turned his head to give Luna an unreadable look; Harry thought he saw him curl the corners of his mouth in a faint smile, but then had to tell himself he was going barmy when the greasy man drew his gaze back to the fire and resumed his muttering.

Luna yawned softly and Harry looked back at the girl, smiling; he tried to pour all his gratitude in that smile and the girl understood; after squeezing his hand in return, she adjusted in her curled position, searching for comfort to favour the sleep that was quickly overtaking her.

Stifling a yawn of his own, Harry stared into the fire. He thought about Ginny and  _her_  fire. He thought about Ron and then all those who cared and were waiting for him to come back home. The last image he saw before Morpheus claimed him under his spell was of Hermione, crying for him not to go.

Seconds later, or so it had seemed to Harry, something soft but heavy fell on his face, making him jump awake.

"Whatdahell!"

Harry swore loudly when he cracked his eyes open and an intense light blinded him, making him think in a moment of pure panic that they were travelling through time again. The next cushion that hit him on the nose and pulled his glasses over his ear convinced him that that was not the case.

"Wake up, Potter!" Nott's voice echoed in the room. "We have a Ravenclaw princess to save!"

Giving a whine worth of Ron Weasley, Harry placed his feet on the cold floor to get himself ready for the mission; only when he was already lacing his shoes did he register Nott's choice of words.

"Ravenclaw princess?" he repeated, looking up. Theodore smirked and Harry noticed, with a tinge of envy, that the boy was dressed impeccably in dark robes, a stark contrast to Harry's muggle clothing.

"Luna found her," Theodore told him, unable to keep the smirk from stretching his lips. "While you were sleeping your arse off. She and Snape sneaked into the Great Hall and there she was!"

Standing, Harry let an exhale of relief leave his lungs. Something heavy fell off his shoulders.

"Guess the Hat placed her in Ravenclaw- she's a true swot, no surprise there," Nott went on. "Though I must say, hadn't it been for her blood- and I mean no offence- she could have made Slytherin too... Anyway, we must be quick and get to the Entrance Hall before Granger leaves for lessons. Luna says she looks okay-"

Harry began to get the impression that the boy was rambling. When his hands kept clenching and unclenching only to claw agitated fingers through his dark hair, Harry sighed in defeat, somehow knowing that Nott was nervous. Harry tended to notice these little details, the fidgeting, the faint colour flooding cheeks and neck; he had been friends with Hermione Granger for seven years, he ought to pick up the small changes in her behaviour for both their sakes. Theodore looked just like Hermione in third year, when she had tried to avoid telling Harry and Ron about her disgusting betrayal, the report she had made to McGonagall about Harry's new Firebolt. Hermione couldn't stop herself from speed talking when she was nervous  _and_  guilty.

Sighing inwardly, Harry stood to better appraise this talkative Theodore Nott, and, once again, he couldn't refrain himself from wrinkling his nose at the sight of his nauseatingly perfect pale skin and neatly combed hair lit by the sun rays streaming through the windows.

 _This is the result of centuries of inbreeding_ , Harry reminded himself, the bitter voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Hermione's.

"What have you done?" Harry asked tiredly.

Nott closed his mouth at once and frowned at him. The confusion was genuine when he said, "What do you mean?"

Harry crossed his arms. "I know that look, Nott. What are you hiding?"

"I don't know what you are talking about..."

"Look, I'm not that dense yet, Nott. Spit it out."

Nott made to protest, but Harry raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Alright," Nott exhaled in surrender. Harry waited patiently for the other to regain his composure and, when he did, the boy's voice had an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty. "This morning, while you were sleeping and Snape and Luna were in the Great Hall... I may have – or may have not, actually... stolen a book."

Pause.

"From the library."

Harry frowned. "What book?"

Hesitantly, Nott reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a heavy and battered book; Harry drew closer to inspect it. It looked familiar. The aura surrounding the tome was definitely dark-

"Bugger!"

Taking an immediate step back, Harry covered his mouth with his hand, staring at the engrossed title on the cover. He had never thought he would see it again, not after he had retrieved it from Hermione's beaded handbag to toss it into the fire with all those other blasted, evil books.

"Damn it, Nott!" Harry yelped, his eyes fixed on Bullock's  _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_. "We have to return it!"

"Can't," Nott mumbled, tilting his head to the side to avoid Harry's accusing gaze.

"Why? We have to return it, or else... Feck if I know what might happen," Harry said, feeling a new wave of panic attack his brains.

Nott shook his head and eventually turned his eyes on Harry. "We can't return it... I've already removed the book from the archives and deleted any trace of it."

Harry dropped onto the couch and massaged his temples, trying to understand why the hell Nott was trying to destroy the few slimy chances they had of returning home. Closing his eyes, he thought about the book, about what it contained, and he struggled to remember the contents until a memory resurfaced in his consciousness, the memory of a specific evening spent at the Burrow. He could even hear Hermione speaking as she fearfully skimmed the page of the dark book.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry looked up. "How did you know about it? Who told you about  _his_  Horcruxes?"

Nott clenched his jaw. "You forget that my father is- was a Knight, Potter."

 _A Knight?_  Harry looked at him questioningly and Nott scoffed.

"A Knight of Walpurgis," he explained. "The first generation of Death Eaters."

That's when Harry remembered Nott Sr, an old wizard he had seen for the first time in that horrid graveyard in Little Hangleton, after the rebirth of Voldemort. But, if Mr Nott had been a Knight, that meant that the man was much older than he looked like, probably as old as-

"They were classmates," Nott elucidated, glancing down at his muggle wristwatch. "We don't have much time, lessons start in ten minutes."

"What are you doing?" Harry asked when Nott walked to a desk to put down Bullock's book. The boy contemplated it with a look of aversion for a moment, then he pulled out his wand and pointed it- at the book.

"I have to destroy it," Nott stated coldly.

"W-What!?" Harry sprang to his feet, shouting, "You can't destroy it, you'll fuck up the future, Nott!"

But Nott wasn't listening to him and Harry realised in horror that a spell was already on the tip of the boy's tongue. Growling, he rushed ahead and shoved Nott to the floor.

"What's wrong with you!?" Harry shouted again, trying to take Nott's wand, his own lying forgotten on the couch. But Nott was surprisingly strong and had Harry pinned under his weight within seconds, a knee pressing hard into his stomach. Grunting in pain, Harry blindly tried to push him off while Nott twisted his back to aim at the book again.

" _Reducto!_ "

Harry kept trying to wrestle his way out, even when the tell-tale sound of an explosion informed him that his battle was lost for good, just like their future. He felt Nott's weight shift and then completely disappear, but Harry stayed there, sprawled on the floor, with tears of anger running from the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Nott said, his voice conveying anything but repentance. "But I had to do it."

In his head, Harry heard screams and pleas for mercy fade away, images of pain and torture contort themselves into nothing but shadows behind his eyelids. Was he imagining the beginning of a new future? A future where Lily and James Potter were alive and happy and safe to raise their only son?

"What if he's already made one," Harry whispered, blinking back the tears to see Nott looming above him, his head tilted towards the windows.

"He hasn't," Nott replied calmly, not looking at him.

"Are you an Occlumens?"

"No."

"Then Snape will know."

"Yes."

"He's going to kill you."

Nott left the sight of the windows to look at Harry, a small smile gracing his lips. "It's worth it."

* * *

It took only a glimpse in their direction to have a Disillusioned Snape stalk across the corridor, an invisible Luna in tow, and grasp both Theodore and Harry's cloak-covered shoulders in a deathly grip to drag them to the closest empty classroom.

As soon as the Invisibility Cloak had been lifted, Harry sat in a chair beside Luna and tuned out every sound around him. Or at least he tried to.

"...what the hell were you thinking!"

"...had to do it,  _he_  said I could..."

"...so this is why you came along..."

"...had to do something!"

"He's a senile man, you idiot! I can't believe he convinced you to-"

"He didn't convince me, it was my choice-"

"This isn't a game! We can't take chances. You may as well have killed yourself and us all! I can't begin to imagine what might happen to us in the future if something, anything, goes wrong now-"

"Better be us than our parents, then!"

Snape opened his mouth to bellow another list of objections but he soon shut it, his eyes wide with realisation.

"So, this is what it's all about," Snape said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "This is to save... to save her, isn't it?"

Harry's eyes darted between Nott and the ex-professor, the resolution of keeping his ears ignorant of the fight abandoned long ago.

"How can you be so selfish?" Snape spat, scowling.

"Selfish?!" the boy fired back. "This might save our world from two Wizarding Wars-"

"NO!"

Panting, Snape lifted his fist to his mouth, his eyes squinted.

"No," he repeated, more calmly. "We have to go back and save the book."

Nott was seething, but the ex-professor's glare was daring him to protest. Harry didn't know Nott's selfish reason for trying to change the future, but he was past caring, the still present sharp pain in his stomach a reminder not to trust Slytherins ever again. Selfish cunning bastards, the whole lot of them.

Snape led the trio to the potions lab where they had appeared the night before, finding it luckily empty, and walked briskly to the centre of the room, the Time-Turner already in his hands.

"No more tricks," Snape said coldly, and Nott averted his eyes. Luna gave him a sympathetic glance but she didn't hesitate when Snape held up the chain, lowering her head as Harry did. Nott faltered for a second before nodding imperceptibly and following the other three in their second attempt at saving Hermione Granger.

The trip was much more bearable this time and Harry didn't feel the need to sink onto the floor and vomit when they arrived- whenever they were.

"Did it work?" Luna asked gingerly, approaching Snape who had apparently moved from them in the blink of an eye. He was leaning against the desk, a series of numbers glowing in front of him. When Luna gasped, Harry neared the other two to look at their new little problem, leaving a resentful Nott to wallow in his anger.

"Perfect," Harry said, his voice sagging with sarcasm. He laughed bitterly, if not a bit hysterically, at the stupid numbers floating in the air. They mocked him: 01-13-1944

"Fecking perfect," Harry muttered again, combing his shaking fingers through his hair. "Now what?"

"The plans, Potter," Snape growled, stretching his hand. Harry glared daggers at Snape but the man wasn't looking at him, his black eyes fixed on the Time-Turner.

Groaning, Harry drew Hermione's handbag from his pocket and fumbled a bit to reach for Hagrid's Mokeskin pouch. Found what he was looking for, he withdrew from the bag and handed Snape a notepad. The man snatched it from him without so much as a glance, too absorbed with whatever he was searching for in the golden object now placed on the desk.

"This might take a while," Luna told Harry. Harry half-heartedly watched her as she Warded the classroom, telling him airily that things were going downhill as it was and a bunch of students walking in on their little problem wasn't a chance they wanted to take right now.

Stepping back to his side, Luna studied the objects Harry had pulled out from Hermione's bag with electrifying fascination, picking them up and turning them over in her hands. Despite his implicit vow of silence, Nott sat at their table and leaned over Dumbledore's books.

Frowning, he said, "A few are missing."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "I destroyed them ages ago. Couldn't come here and have two copies of the same book, could we?"

Nott scoffed loudly, folding his arms. "I bet you did it out of instinct because you hate the books, not because you knew we would end up here. And I'd wager you threw them in the fire in Gryffindor's common room, frustrated and bored and trying not to drink yourself stupid because of Granger."

Harry stilled. Of course Nott had to be right, about everything. The snake wasn't an Occlumens... maybe he was a Legilimens?

Harry  _had_  found a few bottles of Firewhisky in the kitchens; it had taken several attempts and almost two hours for Winky the House-elf to force three vials of Sober-Up Potion down Harry's throat, three as the number of bottles he had decided to latch onto. The little House-elf had taken upon herself the duty to watch over him and keep all the alcohol out of his reach – not that Harry had tried to get drunk again, not after retching in the toilets for what had felt like hours of acid agony. He still felt like shit for those many moments of weakness... so much for being a war hero.

"What does it matter to you, anyway?" Harry asked, fidgeting with the beads of Hermione's handbag.

"It doesn't," Nott snorted. "But you are so easy to read, Pot- LUNA, DON'T!"

Too late. Everyone started to cough as a thick smokescreen rose and obscured their table like a blanket of darkness.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Luna said in consternation, between the coughs.

With a flick of his wand, Snape vanished the mess and glowered at Luna, who was standing right where she had been a moment before, an empty jar held in her hands. Harry's eyes fell on the table, where a thin layer of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder still covered his things and the bottom of a cauldron whose owner hadn't cared to put back in its rightful place after Slughorn's lesson.

Harry cleaned his things of what remained of the powder with his wand and moved around the table to get to the cauldron. The rest of the classroom looked good though, or as good as it gets.

_"What's going on here?"_

Freezing on the spot, the four of them shared a look while voices, many voices, started to near the classroom.

 _"It won't open, Goldstein,"_  a voice spoke behind the door, sending another wave of panic over them.  _"It's locked."_

Snape cursed silently as someone tried to unlock the door with a muttered and weak Alohomora; he sent a meaningful look to the other three, hurling the notepad in Harry's direction.

Harry caught it and sharply swung around to hastily gather all his things and shove them into Hermione's beaded bag before looking around to check that they weren't missing anything; the stools were out of place, but-

"Potter!" Snape hissed and Harry wasted no more time. Pocketing the beaded bag, he ran to his companions and completed their circle within the chain of the Time-Turner just as a familiar, jovial voice approached their hideout, asking,  _"Why aren't you inside?"_

Harry didn't manage to hear the reply because, for the third time in less than twelve hours, the world started spinning.

* * *

"This is all your fault, Nott."

Harry's reminders were given at an interval of seven to ten minutes and, as much as it irritated Snape to no end, no one tried to deny him the right to vent his anger on the Slytherin boy, not even Luna... and that was because Luna wasn't actually listening to Harry, but Harry didn't need to know that.

They were hiding in a corner in the Middle Courtyard, waiting for their target to walk by – they had seen two Slytherins hurry towards the Quidditch Pitch a few minutes before, talking animatedly about their chances to squash Gryffindor this time, considering that a certain Tom had never played as seeker before. Harry had felt a familiar excitement rise in his chest at the prospect of taking a glance at a game of Quidditch, but the hope had been demolished with one glare from Snape. Knowing that Hermione would never miss a game on a lovely sunny day, there they were, waiting for her to show up; the girl may have been allergic to brooms, but she loved following games as much as he and Ron did.

"Are we sure she isn't in the library-" Harry started to ask, but Nott shushed him, pinching his arm for good measure, when a group of Hufflepufs walked dangerously close to their corner.

So Harry answered his own question that, yes, of course she wasn't in the Library, Snape and Luna had double-checked. So where was she? The game had already started.

Feeling someone's elbow push into his side, Harry turned to his right to stab Nott with an angry glare of his- the other boy was trying to grope for his wand, making the cloak covering the two of them slip over their heads. Snape, who had become much more vigilant after the book's disaster, had forced Harry to share his cloak with his new enemy, to make sure that Nott couldn't get anywhere without being noticed by at least one member of their little companionship.

Found his wand, Theodore cast a  _Muffliato_  around them and Harry mentally kicked himself for not thinking about that particular precaution himself (and before a Slytherin could make him feel stupid too.)

Harry's legs were starting to ache for the lack of movement; they had been standing in that bloody courtyard for quite a time now and, despite the presence of the sun high in the sky, the air was still chilly. It was January after all. January 29th, 1944.

Apparently something was wrong with the Time-Turner because it didn't matter how many times they had tried to turn the loops to go  _back_ , the object kept transporting them  _forward_. They had wasted so much time...

 _I wonder if the spell broke something_ , Harry mused, placing a hand on his grumbling stomach. It didn't hurt like before, but twinges of pain took his breath away every time he moved after remaining in the same position for more than ten minutes – yes, Harry Potter  _hated_  Slytherins.

_If only we could ask someone where she is..._

"Zaiden, wait!"

His head snapping upwards, Harry saw a girl and a boy rushing towards them. He frowned and then tended his ears to grasp the echo of cheers and vulgar choirs coming from the Quidditch Pitch; the cringe between his eyebrows deepened when he heard a distant noise: the Snitch hadn't been caught yet.

Then, why-

"Hurry, Evelyn!" the boy called the other girl over his shoulder, running across the courtyard. "The galleon's burning!"

 _The galleon's burning...?_  Harry narrowed his eyes, the instinct to run after the two students kicking in.

"Nott," he hissed in the boy's ear, "we should follow them-"

"Evelyn!"

Nott's body tensed up, his eyes staring ahead, unmoving from the two Ravenclaws dashing into the castle.

"Theodore, let's go after them!" Harry exclaimed under his breath, but Nott wasn't listening.

Snape, who was leaning against the wall beside them, seemed to perceive Harry's need to chase Evelyn and the other boy. Pushing off the wall, he removed the Disillusionment Charm to shoot Harry a threatening look.

But Harry wasn't a kid anymore, he wasn't the boy who hadn't known where to find a bezoar, who hadn't been able to close his mind to Lord Voldemort... those intimidating looks didn't work on  _this_  Harry Potter. That's how he shook his head, sending the Potions Master a hard look, and grabbed Nott by his wrist to dart forward. He heard Snape and Luna do the same, the first muttering insults about 'Gryffindor foolish behaviour and need to get killed at least thrice in their lives'; Harry didn't care though, not when they were following the two Ravenclaw students of the past throughout the corridors, running down the stairs, their gasps for air fortunately silenced by Nott's charm... but they were still too far behind. When Harry and Nott turned a corner and reached the marble staircase, the two students in front of them had disappeared.

"Fuck!" Harry slammed his fist into the wall, panting and uncaring of the few bruises he had just decorated his knuckles with. His instincts had told him to run because the answer to everything was ahead, but here he was again, ready to give up and endure the scolding that Snape was surely rehearsing in his head, and only because they had lost sight of two kids.

He was about to turn and face the consequences of his 'foolishness' when a sound cut the silence. A whimper. It was close.

"This way!"

A visible Luna charged forward and the other three followed her into the Entrance Hall, frantically looking around for the source of that strangled sound- they heard it again. Someone was moaning in pain.

"There," Nott said in an urgent whisper, jerking his head towards the oak doors. They were ajar, a slice of light cutting its way onto the tiled floor. Strange that no one was guarding the Entrance Hall today, considering that most students weren't in the castle but down at the Quidditch Pitch; for what they had seen in the past days, or hours, Aurors and teachers patrolled the castle and guarded the main entrances at all times...

Without thinking, Harry took off the cloak and let it fall at his feet; he looked back his shoulder and saw his three companions wear three unreadable expressions on their faces. Taking slow and tentative steps ahead, he reached the door and pushed it open-

What he saw made him stumble back in his own feet.

She was sprawled across the steps with an arm stretched towards the door, the other bent in an awkward position under her body. A curtain of chestnut hair hid her face, but- he knew. He knew that hair, he would have recognised it anywhere.

This wasn't the way he had imagined meeting her again. There was no happiness bursting in his chest and the relief he had felt at the distant hint of her hair was suppressed by worry and questions flooding his brain. And anger. Anger because she was bleeding from her nose and her mouth and other blood soaked through her white blouse- and her skirt. He didn't want to know what that meant, not now, or else he didn't even want to begin to imagine what he could do to whatever was the responsible.

She whimpered again and her outstretched arm twitched; Harry was standing by the door, frozen, when she lifted her head with great difficulty, her eyes not able to look past his shoes. Her limbs twitched again. At last Harry snapped from his trance and anger overwhelmed him, in some way clearing his head to spur him into action.

He knelt beside her and carefully slipped his hands under her armpits, pulling her to his chest; she tried to fight him, but he kept his arms firmly around her, adamant that he wouldn't let her go, ever.

He finally understood what Luna had said the day before: dawn had been red the day they had travelled to the past- and now it was too late. Blood had already been shed.

"Hermione." His voice came out in a hoarse whisper and she stilled. Minutes passed before she found the strength to look up from his chest and bore her eyes into his. Hers were red and tired and disbelieving.

Her voice was broken.

_"Harry?"_

.

* * *

.

The question is always the same.

_Will you show me mercy?_

The storm is assaulting the drawing room. Splinters of glass fly throughout the place. Shards are stuck in the wooden walls.

I drop on my knees in a pool of blood and, lowering my head, I see my face staring back. Scared. Broken- like the chandelier, its drops scattered all over the floor.

Their bodies are beside me, drowning, and he's standing behind me, sneering. I can see it, the sneer, I can feel it on my own face, tilting the corners of my lips.

I wish I couldn't hear him over the windstorm. I hate his voice: he sounds so condescending, so reasonable, so right. He sounds like me.

"You wanted this."

I wanted it. I didn't want to do it, but I wanted it.

"You did this."

It hurts, my chest. He's suffocating me, chocking me with his claws around my throat, but I can only let him because my body is paralysed.

"This is what you love. The sense of freedom you get from feeling their dirty blood on your hands... it's quenching."

It's true. I love it. But I wish he would leave me alone.

"You  _are_  alone."

It's true. I'm alone. With him.

Why is he here, again?

I'm sprawled on the floor, yet I don't remember moving. I gasp when he removes the hand from my throat to pick up a bloody shard of glass. Always the same one.

I know what he's going to do, this is the only way to wake up. So I let him.

I want to believe this is a kind of mercy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, but, at last, here it is, chapter 8! I was dying to write this chapter from the very start. When I was writing the prologue, I kept muttering to myself, "Okay, but when do I get to write my favourite part, when Harry goes back and saves the world?!"
> 
> And we finally know what really happened to Bullock's book and what's behind that accident in Slughorn's classroom! You thought I'd forget to explain those two things, right? Absolutely not, I always pay attention to details and adore dropping hints here and there. And what I love the most is playing between my lovely three POVs (and, I promise, no other POV will be added, because if I go insane myself at writing different characters, I can only imagine how annoyed and confused readers can get at the sudden change from one POV to the other.)
> 
> So, what do you think about this chapter? Like it or hate it? You know how much I love reading your reviews. As I'm a few chapters ahead in the writing, I might update next week instead of waiting my usual fourteen days - but only if you encourage me through your comments and critiques.
> 
> Last question. What do you think happened to Hermione? Feel free to share your theories (:


	10. Chapter 9 - Salvation

 

I hate her. I hate how she seems to be the only person able to wake him up, even at the distance of a corridor or two from me, even with three tables or a whole courtyard between us.

I'm avoiding her. I've been avoiding Granger for weeks now because every time I'm near her, that thing residing in my blood starts reminding me how badly I should hurt her and how badly he wants her... how much he wants to feast on her flesh.

But she's always there. Every corner I turn, every bloody corridor I walk, Granger always finds herself in front of me and she doesn't run away, she doesn't hesitate to give me an awkward 'Good morning', but I do. I ignore her and walk away, the hisses stabbing my temples mercilessly until I can't bury the very thought of her existence deep inside the recesses of my brain.

My own twisted mind is torturing me, imagining to torture  _her_.

 _She would deserve it._  Yes. Yes, she would. She's a thief and a liar.

"Oh Tom," a shrilling voice snaps me back to the present. "I can't wait to see you fly tomorrow!"

I turn my gaze on the hand grabbing my arm and then move my eyes upwards, to the face of its owner. It's an effort to not cringe at the sight of Calia Greengrass smiling with heavy-lidded eyes, pressing her breasts  _very_  subtly into my side. She's been rubbing herself against me for the duration of dinner- meaning, it's time to get away from her since I'm done eating the few bites of meatballs I've managed to ingest.

"Tom, you should eat," Calia pouts, leaving my arm in order to let me finish my food. "You need your strength for tonight's training."

Thinking of the nicest words a man can say to flatter a woman to silence, I lean over the table and force another small bite in my mouth – Calia is unfortunately right, I can't walk to the Pitch only to faint from lack of sugars in my system, but I still resent the girl when she places her hand on my elbow, again.

"Who are you going to cheer for, Caliadne?" Rosier asks, smirking behind his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Heard your fiancée will catch the snitch for you tomorrow."

I glare daggers at Rosier for his involuntary but stupid reminder of my zero chances to catch the bloody Snitch and make Slytherin win, but he remains oblivious of my stare as he keeps his fixed on Greengrass and the bosom she's pressing into my arm, probably wishing to be in my place. If only we  _could_  switch places, now I wouldn't be about to vomit at the prospect of failing for the first time in front of the whole school.

"I doubt Charlus is faster than Tom," Calia laughs, rolling her eyes.

Truth be told, Charlus Potter is really the fastest seeker that Hogwarts has seen in at least two centuries; only last year he broke the record by catching the Snitch at the tenth minute in the game.

Lifting his eyes over the  _Evening Prophet_ , Flint shakes his head, smirking at Greengrass. "But my dear, it's here where you are wrong. It's not the player that's fast, but the broom..."

He pauses for effect.

"Take Tom, for example. Even if he's crap at playing, he has a quick and steady broom to compensate."

Rosier bursts out laughing so loud that students at nearby tables turn to look at us; I grit my teeth as Calia giggles that high-pitched giggle that only she can render so revolting and then I look askance at Flint. I want to bang my head, or his, on the table when he just shrugs his shoulders, smirking, and I have to remind myself that there are too many witnesses to hex Slytherin's Captain into oblivion right now. I'd almost liked and even respected him before this last stunt.

"So this is how rumours about my skills start," I say, keeping my voice light, "from your jokes."

My cold glare still doesn't have the desired effect on Darius.

"Among the others," he admits, tilting his head to enjoy the sight of Greengrass blushing behind her hands. "Don't worry Riddle, you are not the only one who doesn't know about the reputable special talents that girls and guys seem to know so well- and from personal experience, as they sometimes claim."

"Heartening," I mutter, bringing a goblet of water to my lips.

Flint shrugs again. "At least you are good at it, according to the gossip. Other guys aren't so fortunate."

I don't see how having people talk about my  _special talents_  is fortunate, but I let the conversation drop and so does Flint when Calia reminds us she's still here. Rosier isn't that perceptive.

"Worried our vulgarity will deflower you?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. "Not that that flower of yours hasn't been touched yet, according to  _rumours_  spread by your fiancée."

Calia huffs indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What disgusts me is that you have no sense of decency and no consideration of your surroundings. We are eating, for Merlin's sake!"

"What? Your plate is empty!"

"That's not- You know what, whatever." Calia shakes her head and opens the latest number of  _Witch Weekly_. I'm thankful that no part of her body is touching mine this time.

Deciding to wait for tonight's training here in the Great Hall, I take the newspaper that Flint has just finished reading and fold my arms over the table. The image of an army of wizards clothed in a dark uniform draws my eye.

_'NEW ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE OF CURMING'_

_This morning, a new terrorist attack destroyed the village of Curming, at less than 1 mile from Cummingston. 23 people were killed with the Killing Curse, including 7 children. 10 people were Muggles. No person seems to be missing._

_The responsibility of the attack has yet to be claimed, but-_

There's no need to read the rest. Grindelwald is behind it, just as he was behind the attack on Hogsmeade. I don't know how I should feel about this; I may be disgusted and sad and angry because a wizard is killing and probably torturing people for a cause he won't win, spilling pure and less than pure blood indiscriminately, but, on the other hand, I  _shouldn't_  feel anything. Who am I to judge him, even if only in my mind? He is a murderer and so am I. He's no better nor worse than me.

What if... What if he felt like I did- when he killed people? What if he felt that perverted satisfaction from taking a life, a feeling that I also seem to like so much?

Clenching my hands into tight fists, I take a deep breath and tell myself that, no, I don't kill for sport, I never did. Those...  _accidents_... they were beyond my control.

 _The man in Hogsmeade_ , he purrs.  _He wasn't an accident_.

I want to retort and tell him that I saved a child that time, that I wasn't planning to relish the taste of murder, but Calia takes me back to reality.

"How can they put something like this on the cover?!" she's complaining, waving her magazine under Ian Rosier's nose. I glance at the cover of  _Witch Weekly:_  a pretty blonde girl in a white swimsuit is lounging on the reddish sand of a paradisiacal island.

"Why shouldn't they?" Rosier asks in confusion, taking a look at the offending cover. "And why a swimsuit already? It's still January!"

"This model just can't wear Saab's swimsuit!" Calia says hotly, holding up the magazine and tapping her finger right in the face of the model for Rosier to see. "This swimsuit is beautiful and she's ruining it with legs that are toothpicks-"

Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the newspaper. Waiting for Flint to get his arse off the bench (the guy eats more than Feodor on his worst days), I make myself read the article of the attack in its entirety, but in the end I find nothing I don't already know except for a list of the names of the victims and speculations about the terrorists.

_This is the third attack in two months. Traces of magic left in the village seem to lead once again to Grindelwald's army, a unit of Dark Wizards based in Europe commanded by Gellert Grindelwald. "Aurors are working day and night to defend our country", Minister Spencer-Moon tells the press. "Minister Churchill and I are cooperating to ensure the safety of both our communities from the two fronts that are trying to penetrate the country-_

I narrow my eyes at the moving picture of Grindelwald's army and let them slide past the article, past the names and numbers, to reach him, a black and white face looking apathetically ahead.

You want power. You want to cheat Death and rule over the countries. You want the Muggles to submit to us, to you, so why kill wizards and witches too? They aren't mere collateral victims, they are your aim... Why would you attack Hogsmeade? There are no Muggles there.

A strange feeling in my guts makes me swallow and for a bizarre moment I think that Grindelwald is looking at me from this thin layer of parchment, but then I realise that someone is really watching me, just not from the  _Evening Prophet_.

I lift my head, the feeling in my guts intensifying, and scan the Great Hall. It takes me only an instant and no need to search over a sea of faces: my gaze just falls onto hers on its own volition.

Holding a copy of the  _Prophet_  in her trembling hands, Granger is staring at me. Through me. She looks paler than ever, tired, angry, confused, and her eyes are filled with the same questions I've asked myself.

I stare back, a scowl forming on my forehead, as I eventually discern what's beneath her anger and shock: fear. She's scared.

The nerve she has. The nerve she has to seek me out only to let me see how scared and utterly hopeless she is, the nerve she has to remind me how easily I could make her hate and fear me some more, just like Grindelwald.

My eyebrows slowly lower themselves in a more neutral expression. Deep down I know that her fear is not for me, but the attack. Her attempts at reconciliation after what I've done that night in the Tower are evidence, but it's so easy to forget when a part of me can count only her faults.

My eyes almost soften when I understand the reason for which she chose to communicate with me when Evelyn and Feodor are sitting right beside her, a reason that takes me back to a rainy night spent in the library, talking about books... and Grindelwald and the Hallows.

She looks desperate now and her eyes widen just a fraction, pleading. All those awkward attempts at greeting me and at crossing my path in the corridors are because of this, then: she's asking for forgiveness for her lies and I didn't even give her the time of the day.

What should I do with you? Exasperated, I nearly ask the question out loud.

_Kill her._

Just a look in her direction and I feel less than human, again.

_She wants you so badly you should kill her._

My scowl returns in place and she flinches.

_She's a liar, a thief, a Mudblood._

_This_  is why I hate her. This is why she must stay away.

Undelivered apologies forgotten, I sneer at Hermione and divert my eyes.

"Tom, don't you have to get to the Pitch?"

Calia is looking at me expectantly. Flint is already by the door with Nott.

I nod and pick up my satchel. Making to turn and follow Flint out of the Great Hall, I still feel Granger's eyes on me. I swing around and smirk at Caliadne Greengrass. Leaning over her flushing form, I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper softly, "Potter won't catch the Snitch for you tomorrow. Slytherin is going to win."

I leave the Great Hall without looking back at Granger.

* * *

The last training session is bad. Flint is a monster, like usual, but if I thought that the team saw all of his sadism over the past weeks, tonight we all experience an entirely new level of torture as he snarls insults and drains all our mental and physical capacities. Many times tonight I find myself thinking that if we go on like this, there won't be strength enough for tomorrow's game. I tell Flint so.

"Riddle, do I look like Slughorn?" he asks calmly, Bludger Bat in hand.

Hunched over my broom in the middle of the Pitch, utterly exhausted, I reply that, no, he looks like a hysterical mammoth, not a walrus.

"Then get your royal ass up there and GET THE FUCKING SNITCH, RIDDLE!" he barks back, brandishing the bat menacingly. "No favouritism from me!"

Fortunately, I discover that with a few tricks I can really catch the Snitch. Granted, I've succeeded only three times, but my chances to win are decisively higher than two weeks ago, and all thanks to my  _special skills_ – patience, creativity and, of course, cunning. I'm a Slytherin and I certainly don't want to break the tradition of playing dirty against Gryffindor, even though this type of dirty is much more elegant than the childish shoves of Flint or cursed Bludgers of Mulciber.

I grin when the pull of an easy yet undetectable Location spell drags me towards the Snitch, but I immediately scowl because the stupid golden ball is still too fast and there's only so much that a charm can do.

The broom though... After endless hours of training, I'm still not accustomed to the presence of a stick between my legs, not one that's not attached to my body and tries to make me fall at every opportunity. One thing is to ride something steadier and larger, like a horse or even a Muggle motorcycle, another is to fly on a slim and polished stick of wood that tends to not turn when I need it to. This is a problem because the time I spend concentrating on staying in saddle is equally wasted time of ignoring the pull towards the Golden Snitch.

"No copulation tonight," Flint warns us when the two hours and a half are up. "And no cuddling. No exchange of liquids. No alcohol. I want you as fresh as roses tomorrow morning, so go to sleep."

I curse Darius Flint on the way from the locker rooms to my bed, knowing all too well that there won't be sleep for me tonight.

The next morning starts as badly as the previous night ended.

I look at my coffee and half-eaten croissant, ignoring Calia's attempts at cheering me up. At least Nott is sitting here today, even if his head keeps turning over his shoulder. Pathetic.

"Why don't you go sit with her?" I ask bitterly, grabbing another piece of the warm croissant.

"She's with the Gryffindors," he answers darkly, turning his eyes again to the other end of the Great Hall.

Curious, I lift my gaze and, true to his word, Evelyn is sitting with the Gryffindors- and not only her. Zaiden is also there, the little traitor. And Granger.

I glare at her bushy head as she sits in front of her best friends, with her back to me- coward. She's a coward.

I forget my coffee and just stay motionless for two full minutes, staring and waiting for Granger to turn and face me like I did yesterday, because surely she must feel my eyes on her... she doesn't. When she keeps her nose buried in the  _Daily Prophet,_  pretending to read, I feel the urge to walk up to her table, yank the stupid newspaper from her hands and tear it to pieces.

Already back to avoiding me, are you? Coward-

I squeeze my eyes shut. I forgot that this was what I wanted. I try to calm down the inner turmoil of conflicting thoughts and remember that this is how it's supposed to be.

.

* * *

.

Hermione was feeling his stare on her, insistent and furious. The hypocrite.

First he ignored her or treated her like shit, then he demanded her to look at him and for what exactly? To let him sneer at her while whispering sweet nothings to that bitch of Caliadne Greengrass-

 _Woah,_ some repressed rage she had. Caliadne wasn't to blame, no matter how much Hermione wanted to throttle her only for looking at Tom bloody Riddle. And touching. And pressing her big breasts against him.

Hermione's face fell further from behind the  _Daily Prophet_  when she took a glance at her chest. Sighing, she closed the newspaper and dropped her head on Octavius Weasley's shoulder. The Gryffindor boy stilled for a moment and slowly turned to look down his freckled nose, but he immediately relaxed upon realising it was her.

"What's wrong, kitten?" he asked with a smirk. "Worried for my safety? Scared I will fly too fast and smash my skull into a goal post or, worse, a Bludger?"

Hermione hit his chest, hard.

"That's not funny," she told him seriously, glaring at Evelyn as the girl interrupted the conversation with Alphard Black and Zaiden to laugh at her.

"Come on, kitten, cheer up! At least if Weasley ends up in the Hospital Wing, you will have the honour to cry at his bedside," Alphard joked, making Hermione roll her eyes.

"First, my name is Hermione," she tells him, broadening Alphard's grin, "and, second, if Octavius gets hurt, you will be the one at his bedside. I've had enough of the Infirmary."

"Whatever you say, kitten."

Alphard looked way too smug in Hermione's opinion, but, again, he was a Slytherin and being a Slytherin meant 'arrogant prick', even when said arrogant prick was sitting with the Gryffindors. Stretching herself over the table to get the bottle of pumpkin juice, Hermione couldn't suppress a smile as Alphard stole the goblet from her hands to pour the juice himself. The boy made a show of conjuring a rose from thin air and pull off a pink petal, dropping it into the goblet. Hermione laughed.

"Here, my lady," he said silkily, offering her flower and drink with a perfect bow of his head and wave of his hand.

Hermione gasped dramatically, "My, aren't you a gentleman. Thank you."

Groaning, Octavius stood and looked directly at Alphard, and something in the air shifted with the action.

"You first?" he asked. His voice was as solemn as his eyes and his back was perfectly straight. The other Slytherin stood as well, fixing his composure into a similar formality.

Hermione, Evelyn, and Zaiden shared a look.

"Charlus Potter," Alphard stated simply.

Octavius primmed up his lips. "You sure?"

Alphard just arched an eyebrow.

"All right," Octavius conceded. "Riddle."

"Tom?"

"How many Riddles do you know?"

"Many.  _This thing all things devours:_

_birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

_Gnaws iron, bites-_ "

"Yes,  _Tom_  Riddle."

"You know we are supposed to say name and surname. We have been doing this for years... Any road, we are both up for a real challenge this time, Hallelujah!"

Octavius sighed heavily, "Prize?"

"Your sister."

"Absolutely not."

"A kiss from your sister."

"Black..."

"A slap from your sister?"

"Are you serious?"

"Salazar's sake, no, that's my uncle, Sirius Perseus Rigel Black."

Octavius groaned again and hid his face in the palm of his hand. "Why I still put up with you after eighteen years I don't know."

Alphard grinned, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. "Because I'm funny and your best mate. Now, as I was saying, I will gladly accept a slap from your sister. Anything from her beautiful hands... and that mouth..."

"So," Octavius interrupted him, his hands balled into tight fists to not choke his best friend for good. "I want you to shut up for a week, seven days-"

Smirking, Alphard asked instead, "Prize?"

"What? I already told you-"

"You keep forgetting how our negotiations work. Respect the order of things. Prize?"

"A  _Silencio_  cast on you for the duration of seven days."

"That's cruel!"

"That's a blessing for the whole school."

Octavius and Alphard stared at each other for a couple of seconds in which Hermione shared another glance with her two friends: they both looked confused but amused to no end.

"Who would be the caster?" Alphard asked regretfully, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"Why, Hermione of course," was Octavius' reply. At once, the boys turned to Hermione with two identical questioning looks and Hermione widened her eyes.

"What!?" she cried in disbelief, frantically shaking her head. "No, no way! No way you will involve me in your stupid bet!"

Octavius hissed. Clutching his chest and curling the corners of his mouth downwards, he tilted his head towards his best friend, "Heard that, Alphius? She called our  _negotiation_  a 'stupid bet'!"

"I heard it, Octard," Alphard said indignantly, his face screwed in outrage and Hermione rolled her eyes so hard she felt pain in the back of her skull- but she still had that fraction of a second to appreciate how Alphard's face remained nauseatingly attractive even when grimacing.

 _Centuries of inbreeding, Hermione,_  she reminded herself.

"Evelyn?" Octavius asked the blonde girl, his voice filled with hope.

Evelyn shrugged, "Sure."

Hermione wrinkled her nose when Octavius and Alphard spat into their palm and clapped hands, grinning like fools, but the disgust was soon replaced by respect as she realised that two pure-bloods had just sealed their stupid bet the Muggle way, so she smiled and then laughed heartily at Octavius' request to kiss him good luck on the cheek.

Hermione still felt  _his_  fierce glare on her back, but she slid off the bench to stand all the same, shrugging off the feeling of his dark eyes following her every movement, and she lifted her head with determination, even when a part of her, the old and wise Hermione Granger, knew far too well that the feeling was still there, that she couldn't just will it away. But she could turn it into a weapon.

Standing on her tiptoes, Hermione placed a hand on Octavius' cheek and kissed the other with a resounding smack. This was hardly revenge for what  _he_  had done, especially when Octavius ruined the moment and turned to get a kiss from Evelyn ("Kiss number two!") and two other Gryffindor girls sitting nearby ("Three and... four!").

"He's the fifth player on the team," Alphard explained. Hermione was about to say something, but a loud smack that didn't sound like a kiss at all made her look over her shoulder: there, in the middle of the Great Hall, stood Octavius Weasley rubbing his cheek and keeping his wide betrayed eyes fixed on professor Merrythought's back. The woman was walking to the High Table, smirking.

* * *

Hermione had to admit that she was feeling much better, thanks to Alphard. After Octavius had left the Great Hall to go and get warmed up for the game, the Slytherin boy had entertained Hermione with funny stories from his childhood, mostly pranks he and Octavius had set in sunny days of summer spent at home or stunts pulled in the castle, specifically the dorms, to teach a lesson to bullies. She'd gaped when Alphard mentioned that the bullies were usually Slytherins, his own housemates; he'd just smiled sadly when Hermione observed so, and said that he had few friends in his House in any case, not that he minded.

Hermione had talked with Alphard and Octavius before, Evelyn had introduced them months ago, but only now, as Alphard explained how he and Weasley had managed to elude the enchantment on the staircase to the girls' dormitories in their second year, she realised how close the two boys were, like inseparable brothers.  _Like twins_ , she thought with a pang of homesickness in her chest.

Furthermore, if the pair of best friends painfully reminded her of Fred and George, Alphard looked like his nephew Sirius in appearance and more, with his wavy black hair and charming smile that promised mischief as soon as a back was turned. But his eyes weren't grey, they were a warm brown, and his voice was younger and light, not haunted and deep, and that's why Hermione didn't like it when Alphard called her 'kitten', because she knew that he wasn't Sirius and couldn't delude herself in believing the contrary. Granted, she had never liked it when Sirius had called her 'kitten' in that mocking tone of his, especially after she'd told him off for treating Kreacher like shit, and that had happened more than once, but the memory still made her close her eyes and regret all their shouting contests and the days of silent treatment that had always followed.

Sighing, Hermione made herself look back at Alphard only to find him staring back through narrowed eyes. Evelyn and Zaiden luckily chose that moment to reinsert themselves in the conversation, saving her from offering an explanation, or a lie, for her mood to someone who was much more perceptive than Sirius. Yes, Alphard was definitely his own persona.

"Huh, Alphius...?" Evelyn crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side. "What are you betting on this time?"

"As if you are not doing the same-" he tried to distract her, but Evelyn just waited, tapping her finger on her forearm in a perfect impression of Professor McGonagall. Yes, Hermione remembered the face of her dear professor, waiting for an explanation from Harry and Ron after having been caught wandering somewhere forbidden in the castle or, most of the times,  _outside_  the castle. Hermione suppressed a giggle and then wondered if she was finally getting hysterical.

"Alph _ard_ ," Evelyn threatened, squinting her eyes at him. Alphard's Adam apple popped audibly.

"Alright, alright," he exhaled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Merlin's balls, woman, you are a spoilsport."

Evelyn pinched his arm.

"Who ends up first in the Hospital Wing!"

"What!?" Hermione and Evelyn both cried, but the idiot didn't appear ashamed in the least.

No one said anything for a while (the Ravenclaw girls looked murderous, daring Alphard to utter another word), until...

"Five galleons on Potter," Zaiden said, spitting into the palm of his hand.

Alphard grinned and did the same. "You are in, mate."

* * *

Almost all students had already left the Great Hall by the time Hermione and her friends decided it was time to go. The sun was already high in the sky and shy rays filtered through the windows when they walked into the Entrance Hall to get to the Middle Courtyard.

"So Charlus Potter is engaged with Caliadne Greengrass," Evelyn was telling Hermione while they walked leisurely across the corridors, Zaiden and Alphard following behind. "And his girlfriend, Scarlett Prince, is engaged with Orion Black, who is in third year, but Orion's pretty much in love with Walburga, who won't even look at him, of course, poor thing... She's such a-"

Alphard grunted.

"-a lovely girl indeed. She's Alphard's sister. Slytherin, our year, so you must have seen her. Can't really not notice her." Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"I didn't know you two were twins!" she said, glancing over her shoulder to see Alphard shrug, an indecipherable look crossing his face.

"Anyway," Evelyn continued, "point is that Charlus told Greengrass he's going to catch the Snitch for her... in front of Scarlett. Poor girl was standing there and the git winked at Greengrass-"

"Yes, well, half of the school has promised something to Calia," Alphard interjected, in spite of all his attempts at ignoring Evelyn's gossip, a part of the girl that Hermione had discovered only recently. It wasn't as annoying as Lavender and Parvati's tittle-tattle, mainly because Evelyn often seized the opportunity to make fun of their classmates, so Hermione didn't mind at all.

Evelyn scoffed, but Hermione and Zaiden looked confused, so Alphard clarified, "Only yesterday Tom swore he would be the one to catch the Snitch for Caliadne."

"That trollop has her snakes wrapped around her little finger-"

"I'm a snake and I'm certainly not wrapped anywhere around her-"

"Of course not, you are better than that!"

"Glad you know. Besides, she may be pretty... but you and Hermione  _outshine_  her."

"Ha ha, heard that, Hermione? Hermione...?"

But Hermione didn't hear Evelyn. In fact, she hadn't heard a word since registering what Alphard had said. Standing in the middle of the corridor, she thought that it was silly, really: he was just a boy like any other, a kiss didn't mean anything, their kiss hadn't meant anything, not for him nor for her; he was free to show interest for any witch he wanted, free to catch the bloody Snitch in their names, free to take them to Hogsmeade, to the Astronomy Tower or into his bed.

So, why was she feeling her chest constrict in pain... she shouldn't feel this way. So why?

"Hermione?" Evelyn called her again, walking back to her. Hermione snapped her eyes open and blinked a few times before nodding, forcing a smile on her lips. Evelyn shook her head, worry and guilt painted on her face. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Hermione Granger?"

Startled, Hermione straightened her spine and swung around to see a tiny girl with black curly hair and black eyes cross the corridor in a sprint.

"F-from professor Dumbledore," she gasped, handing Hermione a letter and then doubling over her knees to catch her breath.

Somewhat amused, Hermione forgot all her senseless worries and peered curiously at the creamy envelope, turning it over in her hands.

"Thank you," she said to the girl, receiving a timid smile in response.

"I wonder what he wants on a Saturday," Evelyn frowned.

 _Hadn't he said he would ask a friend about cursed scars?_  Hermione bit her lip, knowing it was better not to get her hopes up.

"You go to the Quidditch Pitch, I will join you later," Hermione said absently, her eyes still scanning Dumbledore's letter, for what she didn't know. "Save me a seat, please."

Evelyn, Alphard and Zaiden were already at the end of the corridor when Hermione tore her eyes from the envelope and called them back, "Do you have the coins I gave you?"

Her friends nodded at once, patting their pockets, and Hermione felt her chest constrict again, but for a very different reason this time.

"Good", she muttered and, ignoring the worried look that Evelyn and Zaiden shared, she turned away and ducked inside an empty classroom before her friends could catch up with her; Hermione usually didn't open Dumbledore's letters in front of others for fear they would pick up something she wasn't ready to explain yet, but there was something else about this last missive, a sort of anticipation.

Still biting her lip, Hermione opened the envelope, pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. Foolish girl. It happened all too quickly and it took an instant for her to realise that the few words elegantly written at the top of the parchment weren't Dumbledore's, an instant in which she managed to read the two lines before a loud CRACK sucked her into the inevitable space warp.

_It is his Highness' pleasure that the queen  
Appear in person here in court. Silence!_

.

* * *

.

Gryffindor is in disadvantage and Flint's sneer can't be wider. Hovering over the Quidditch Pitch, both hands holding the handle of Abraxas' Comet 180 in a death grip - "They gave you the Comet 140? That broom is a joke," he had said, "you use my 180 against Potter's Cleansweep" - I look below at the ring to follow another spectacular save of Nott as he dives in front of the smallest hoop and knocks the Quaffle with the broom's head, tossing it to the nearest Lestrange.

"And Nott saves the Quaffle again," a slightly dreamy voice exclaims in the megaphone of the commentator. The dirty blond locks of Zaiden's best friend Lovegood are visible even from here. "Slytherin's keeper hasn't missed one yet-"

 _Of course he hasn't_ , I think with a grin. No matter how hard Feodor tries to hide it, I know that he is having fun playing the keeper and making the audience hold their breath for several agonising seconds when the Quaffle gets too close to the hoops: Feodor is Slytherin's ace.

" _Nott is our ace,_

_he always saves the Quaffle with grace,_

_he hisses in Potter's ugly face,_

_to stick his broom in that place,_

_because Nott is the only ace!_

_We shout worse than a mandrake:_

_here he comes our snake,_

_win he will Slytherin make,_

_because Nott is our ace."_

I roll my eyes as Lovegood hums the song in the megaphone, but the Slytherins don't seem to mind, on the contrary, the choir rises volume and- and then I feel it. The spell pulling me towards the Snitch. I dart forwards and there it is, a little shining dot floating closer and closer; I keep my eyes trained on it, swearing to myself that this time the little devil will be mine. Too bad that Charlus is thinking the same; I curse loudly when he rushes to my side, stretching his arm and kicking my broom with his leg. Fuming, I give him a hefty shove of my own and, making him momentarily lose control of his broom, I don't waste time: willing the Comet to reach its highest speed, I lunge forwards, squinting against the sun, the wind grazing my skin-

"AARGH!"

Potter pounces on me with all his weight and I howl in pain as he sweeps me away, hurling me with my broom earthwards, spinning, and, with my horror, loosening my grip on the handle. I blink furiously as the broom decelerates and my gloved hands slide rapidly on the shaft to its helve.

_No No It can't be No_

My ears ring and blood pounds under my skin, running to my face, and I find myself clinging to the broom with my legs dangling into the void at over 100 feet from the ground and I can't hear a thing except my erratic and broken breathing. Clenching my jaw and gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip on the handle and try to drag it down, but the stick is like moving concrete.

_No I can't fall Not now I can't let him win No_

I kick the air, trying to heft myself up and pull the Comet down, and fail. If only I could reach my wand-

"-me that! COME ON, RIDDLE!"

Evelyn yells in the megaphone and after seconds or ages, I finally hear again the noise of the crowd over the ringing of my ears, but I don't really like it.

"Get on that broom, Riddle. NOW!" Evelyn keeps shouting angrily. So much for encouraging me.

"Get down this instant, you, stupid broom," I growl, using my remaining strengths to move my right hand higher as if I were wielding a thick rope.

"COME ON, TOM! I placed a bet on you and Morgana forbids that I give my precious ten galleons to Alphard-"

"Miss Clearwater!" Dumbledore's shocked voice reaches my ear, magically amplified. The crowd laughs and cheers and shouts nonsense and I lift my knees. Just another push of my arms-

"Professor, why are you here- Tom, quick, Potter lost it!"

Angry and tired and adamant that Charlus Potter can't win this game, I address the stubborn broomstick, "If you don't collaborate, I will  _burn_  you."

The threat does the trick and, at last, I move the broom easily, hoist myself over the saddle and blindly follow the pull of my spell in a low dive, past Potter, past the stands, until my fingers wrap around a familiar small ball of metal.

The crowd explodes in a roar of applause and I don't quite remember landing the broom back to the ground or letting professor Slughorn hug me and Alphard shake my hand for his new 'little prize' (something about thanking Salazar that Potter has at least a scratch on his arm worth of the Hospital Wing and hoping a redhead is going to slap him very hard), but I do have a vague memory of Calia asking me about the Snitch. I don't recall the exact words I used, but it's obvious that the girl doesn't like the way I've reminded her I hadn't precisely said I would have caught the Golden Snitch for her, only that I was going to make Slytherin win. The notion that Caliadne Greengrass won't be talking to me for an entire week doesn't make me feel guilty in the slightest.

Abraxas, who's been granted the permission to leave the Hospital Wing for the game, greets me on the door to the locker rooms and I have the sudden urge to strangle him, but one look in Flint's direction halts me. Darius is the epitome of happiness.

"Sorry," Abraxas says sheepishly, looking at his polished shoes. "I forgot to tell you that my broom requires a sort of... reciprocal understanding-"

"Abraxas..." I sigh, taking off my gloves.

"-it's a handy feature when you want the broom to do as you think-"

"Abraxas, it's fine," I shut him up, walking past him into the stinky old room to sit on the bench. "Well, not really fine, but I won't punish you because your broom doesn't understand me,"  _no one does,_ "and we won for once, so don't worry."

Abraxas breathes a sigh of relief. "You know, you flew well."

"Thanks," I say, extricating myself from equipment and soaked uniform.

"Your technique isn't bad, but if you try to keep one hand free-"

"Don't push your luck, Malfoy," I tell him coldly. I wait for him to swallow whatever punishment he's picturing in his head before flashing him a smirk. It's not like I've physically hurt him before, but Abraxas knows how my little mental games work and they have grown gradually fascinating with time, from simple dares, like steal Veritaserum from Slughorn's storeroom and slip it into Charlus Potter's morning tea and see how he makes a fool of himself, revealing the most shocking yet unsurprising truths, to more difficult tasks, like find an untraceable book (that hasn't been found yet) or send annoying people to the Hospital Wing without getting caught by Albus Dumbledore.

"Well done, Riddle," Flint steps in the locker rooms and claps me on the shoulder. I nod back at him. "And Nott! Damn you, you somethingball player-"

"Football," Feodor mutters, dropping himself onto the bench and yanking the uniform over his head.

"You were crazy, better than Avery-"

Sagging his back against the wall, Nott's words are final, "Don't even think about it, Flint."

* * *

Nott is late for lunch. I sit in my usual spot at halfway of the Slytherin table, between Flint and Rosier, who are reviving the match  _for a change,_  and slowly chew my food without really savouring it. My pocket watch is ticking against my heartbeat, warm and heavier than usual in a distracting way, but I blame the last two hours of exertion and Charlus Potter for that, even if, now that I think about it, I could have conjured wandlessly a Cushioning Charm on the ground to soften the fall, had the situation required it. When has it deserted me, the capability to think clearly?

My guts clench and twist and can't fathom why: I'm fine and the Snitch is floating over the table.

"The Ravenclaw girl bet on you."

I turn to look at Flint, who is shooting smirks at the Lions' table. I ask, "Clearwater?"

Nodding, Flint moves his gaze back to me and smiles, no trace of his usual sneer on his lips. "Yes, I overheard the little one, Davies, saying that she was sure you would catch the Snitch."

Strange, Evelyn hasn't spoken to me in days, limiting herself to glare daggers in my direction the few times we've crossed paths.

"So Alphard bet I wouldn't?" I ask, not knowing how to feel about that. I hardly know Alphard Black.

Flint shrugs, "He's a Gryffindor at heart. Anyway, Davies was saying Clearwater was pretty certain you would make us win. And the Granger girl too, said you were going to catch the Snitch 'cause you wouldn't have it another way... I'm starting to like these Ravenclaws."

There it is again, that feeling in my stomach, tightening, making me gulp and sweat and hear the sodding  _tick tock_  loud in my ears and up my throat- yet her eyes don't meet mine when I ultimately raise my head to acknowledge whatever she's been trying to tell me. I can still hear it in my ears, vibrating strong as if she shouts a whisper and I know it's her voice or a memory of it, telling me to follow a thread and just  _look_  at her, but even though I'm listening hard, I don't see her. She's just not here.

.

* * *

.

Hermione didn't know where she was. She couldn't make out a shape for it was dark, so dark she thought she was going blind. Her head hurt, but it wasn't the kind of hurt felt after a fall, and she knew that she had fallen at some point; the feeling was more subtle, like a rope gently fastened about her mind to not let her escape but not alarm her as well.

 _Of course_ , she thought. She'd been bound with the Full Body-Bind Curse; Hermione knew that she could undo the curse relatively easily even without her wand, but then what, how to proceed from there? She didn't know where she was, everything was so dark and quiet here, and moreover, she didn't know who her captors were. Because she was aware there were people here, close, so close to her body.

Had it been possible, Hermione would have screamed, more in outrage than fear, when someone silently levitated her in the air, taking her only Morgana knew.

 _Morgana, huh..._  Now of all times Hermione had to question since when she had started to invoke Morgana, or Merlin or Godric, instead of God. But then, this might well be the last time she would have the chance to think, question and pray- before facing Death.

_Death... I wonder if I could invoke him, or her, like Morgana. Not that she has ever answered me. Hmm, have I ever actually asked her something?_

Either her captor had four feet or there were two of them, she thought as they turned left and walked in a cosy corridor, the sound of footsteps now clear but muffled by something, probably rugs. She could hear and see now, not much, but at least her senses were coming back; she was surprised to find a warm light in this remote place. Oil lamps lit the walls covered in dark green carpet and the traditional wood coffered ceiling with a dim yellowish glow.

_Dear Death, this is the first time I pray- to you. I mean, I used to pray to God, but now that I'm already down here, wherever here is, I think it's more appropriate, you know, talk with- to you._

The place smelled nice, of parchment and burning wood and something else not unpleasant, like the cigars that her grandpa used to smoke in the attic, in front of the wide-open window.

"Just another drag off my cigar, Hermione, I promise..." he'd always said when the little girl caught him red-handed. "Just don't tell your grandma, please?"

Little Hermione had clasped her hands behind her back all the times, though, batting her eyes innocently, a little smirk creeping on her lips. "Mama took the gummy bears."

Moist gathered in Hermione's eyes as she remembered her grandfather roll his eyes and lift her in his arms; more than once they had run into the kitchen to grab the forbidden sweets, stealing them from the highest shelf of the cupboard, holding their breath for fear that Helen or Grandma Ariadne would detect them.

The tears couldn't run down her cheeks nor Hermione could blink them away. Her eyes were starting to hurt.

_Dear Death, I don't know what, who is waiting for me, just- just help me, okay? I promise I will be good, I promise I'm going to follow when you call me, without question I'll come with you._

Arrived at the end of the hall, one of the two men knocked firmly on a door, for she knew her captors were both males by their heavy footfall. Blood rushing through her veins to her head too fast, her eyes unfocused, Hermione barely registered being moved into a room and lowered onto something soft until a warm hand settled on her shoulder. Wincing, her body found the movement unrestrained.

_Oh please help me I promise I won't smoke I promise I won't indulge in sugar Please take me back to Hogwarts_

"Hello, Hermione."

That voice. She had heard it before and hoped she would never again, but hope had never worked, hadn't it? No, she had to face him this time, alone, and no Dumbledore would come to rescue her. No Evelyn, no Zaiden.

Without trembling under his gaze, without taking that shuddering breath threatening to spill from her throat, Hermione wiped her eyes with the pretest of massaging her forehead, taking her time to regain her composure, and, at last, she raised her head.

"You," she said steadily, unwavering.

Crouched before her, Gellert Grindelwald released her shoulder and stared up into her face, studying her as if she were a rare creature. He looked almost normal with his short blond hair and light-coloured eyes, though one was darker; the thin lines adorning his face did nothing to lessen the beauty she had seen ages ago in Rita Skeeter's book, in fact they enhanced his spine-chilling perfection, the fine and sharp bones, the thin lips of his mouth curled in a kind smile. A mask so flawless that Hermione just couldn't let herself be deceived.

"Me," he nodded, a smirk twitching on his lips.

Hermione let her eyes dart around for an instant before forcing herself to look at him again. A window, a door, a fireplace, no grates. The room looked like a study. Her wand, where was it- no, it's still here, up her sleeve, good. It's raining, that told her nothing of where she was, it could have been anywhere, damn it.

Standing in one swift movement, the man walked to the fireplace and leaned against the side of the mantel, arms crossed over his chest, appraising her, again.

"You know, I've been wanting to talk with you for quite some time," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. His voice wasn't deep, but it was masculine. His accent was unidentifiable and seductive, subtle and mysterious. "Since that night, actually. Do you remember that night, Hermione?"

Hermione clenched her hands, lashing words ready on the tip of her tongue-  _Yes, I remember that night, how can I possibly forget, I remember the bodies, the children, you killed them, you, bastard_ \- but her lips remained sealed and a crease formed on her forehead as a crackling sound caught her attention; she hadn't realised that the stupid Portkey was still clutched in her hand.

"Ah, yes." This time the smirk remained there. Grindelwald's gaze followed the parchment fall at Hermione's feet. "I hope you appreciated the, ha, poetry in it. An elegant and fitting idea, I dare say, for the invitation of a lovely and brave woman to my humble abode."

"Does that make you the crazy king?" The question pushed past her lips before she could control herself. Hermione suppressed a sigh of relief when the man just chuckled.

"I prefer the title of Lord," he admitted, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "But you flatter me, Hermione."

She didn't have to be scared. Had Grindelwald wanted to kill her, he would have done it when she had first appeared in his study, or probably that time in Hogsmeade. She needn't be scared.

"Why am I here?" Hermione asked stiffly and then widened her eyes, feeling a powerful wave of anxiety creep on her skin when he pushed off the wall and crossed the room in three long strides- to sit beside her on the couch, on the very opposite end of it, lounging over the arm.

"Why, I wanted to see you," he said with a grin, making her anxiety increase considerably. "Don't worry darling, you are not here for a trial. I have a proposition for you."

Hermione kept her mouth shut while she thought about what this man- Dark Lord could want with her.

"What kind of proposition?" she asked cautiously, trying not to narrow her eyes.

Grindelwald didn't answer her question right away, choosing this moment to draw his wand and summon a tray carrying two crystal glasses and a decanter of spirit. He flashed Hermione another smile before turning to the silver tray hovering over his knees; he poured three fingers of the amber-coloured liquor in each glass and offered one to Hermione. She didn't want to take it, nor drink it, and she debated for several seconds. Grindelwald just looked at her with that damn smile, keeping the glass within her reach and daring her to decline the drink and his courtesy. Biting her lip, Hermione took the drink, careful to not touch his fingers in the process, and she slowly brought it to her lips and halted it there, waiting. Grindelwald knocked back half of his own.

"See?" he smirked. "It's not poisoned."

"You may have slipped something in my glass before I arrived," Hermione narrowed her eyes this time and the man rolled his.

"I swear on my blood that your drink is clean of anything lethal, Hermione."

Hermione wanted to debate and say that alcohol  _could_  be lethal, but she didn't want to dwell on superfluous details, not when she was walking on a tightrope. Waiting for Grindelwald to resume the conversation, she sipped the spirit. Although strong, it didn't burn her throat like she had expected to; in fact, it tasted very good, so hot and refreshing at the same time that she took another swig and kept the liquor in her mouth, swirling it over her tongue in relish.

"I want you to work for me."

Hermione choked on her drink and Grindelwald laughed at her, earning a glare that didn't scare him in the slightest, not when the girl was spluttering all over the carpet and her dignity was flying out of the window.

"You waited on purpose," she accused him when the coughing stopped. Her face was burning with embarrassment.

Grindelwald shrugged, "Just good timing. So, what say you?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and rubbed her sweaty hands on her pleated skirt.

"You do realise I'm a Mudblood, right?" she asked bitterly, tilting her head sideways. Grindelwald arched an eyebrow and she realised only too late her choice of word.

"I had my suspects and now I know, but your blood status doesn't concern me," he replied, sending their empty glasses back over the desk with a flick of his wand.

Hermione was incredulous. "What? You spent your life torturing and killing people like me!"

The smile on his lips disappeared completely. Grindelwald turned on the couch to fully face her. "Don't presume to know what I have and haven't done in the past, Hermione. Now, suffice for you to know that I fight for a right cause, protect our world."

"By killing Muggles," Hermione jerked out, fear and caution now replaced by a familiar anger. "And wizards too, apparently. Tell me, are the half-bloods and pure-bloods  _only_  collateral damage for you or legitimate targets in your attacks?"

Hermione held her breath upon seeing a muscle work in his jaw, a glint of annoyance in his eyes.

His voice was colder but still calm. "I don't expect you to understand. You are young and don't know how our society works. There is a limited number of ways to obtain real results, to show people where their trust should lie. Disorder is one of such means. It's necessary... and temporary."

Unable to suppress the rage any longer, Hermione finally snapped, "It's fear! What you are doing- It's terror! You are no better than the Muggles!"

Grindelwald abruptly stood up and stared hard at her, his voice coming out in a chilling low murmur. "Don't you dare compare me to those creatures! Do you know how hard it is for us to hide from that- that scum? Every day, every minute, wizards and witches have to look back their shoulder to do even the simplest spell for fear  _they_  will see. Your Ministry wants you to believe that this secrecy is to protect them, but the truth is that Muggles are dangerous, a threat to  _us_!"

Combing agitated fingers through his hair, he paused to heave a placating breath, and then went on, "Do you know how many witches and wizards they have killed over the centuries, Hermione? Many, too many. And they inhabit the ninety-eight percent of Earth while we are forced to live in constant disguise and stand to watch and suffer when another of their stupid wars destroys entire cities. Have you seen London these days? Berlin?"

But Hermione had lost him a long time ago. She tried to speak but words were glued to her palate. She swallowed and tried again. "What do you mean... they killed wizards? How- why?"

Grindelwald shook his head, the corner of his lips curling downwards. "Don't tell me you really believe that wizards survived the stake, Hermione. Because they didn't."

"B-but, the books... History of Magic-"

"What would you have thought, I wonder, reading that once upon a time Muggles killed people like you?"

Hermione gaped at him, scared that he could be right. No, he couldn't be, she couldn't have been taught a lie.

"But they had a wand," she tried to reason, "surely they could have protected themselves-"

Grindelwald interrupted her, furrowing his eyebrows. "You forget that not all wizards had the luxury of owning a wand, Hermione," he said sombrely.

She didn't know why, but Hermione wanted to cry. They were talking about something that had happened centuries before and yet...

"Today, perhaps at this moment, Muggle-borns like you who don't even know of the existence of our world,  _their_  world, die for the most different and unthinkable reasons by Muggle hands. You do know what's happening in Germany, don't you? And other nations in Europe? Do you know how many children end up in..."

He didn't finish the sentence and words hung in the silence, clear like the images they evoked. She knew, of course she knew, she had read everything about it, the numbers, the names-

"But you are killing people too..." Hermione murmured, closing her eyes, the silhouette of bodies sprawled on the white snow burnt for eternity behind her eyelids.

"It's a necessity."

"You are a cruel man."

"This is the second time you flatter me, Hermione. Do you really think I'm alone in this?"

Hermione opened her eyes, a shadow of horror falling into her gaze.

He didn't smile or blink. He answered her silent question. "No single man can obtain terror, as you called it, from entire nations."

Hermione wanted to counter but she didn't say anything. Grindelwald picked up her thoughts with only a look in her eyes.

"Oh, you think about the Muggles and that leader in Germany, don't you? He isn't alone, my dear. His beliefs are shared by many others."

She was sure that he wasn't using Legilimency on her, but he always seemed to know what was going on in her head. Was she so easy to read?

"I don't share your views, Grindelwald." It was the first time she spoke his name. It felt terrible, hearing it in her own voice. "I can't work with you."

Grindelwald arched an eyebrow. "No? Are you sure?"

Hermione leapt to her feet. "No, I won't kill people, I'm not like that. Goodbye."

She went straight for the door. It was locked.  _Bugger._

"Oh, I know, Hermione," he said. She could hear a condescending smirk in that alluring voice of his. "You are too good, too brave to kill innocents. Because that's what I do, right? Kill innocents. You would readily shield a kid with your body."

She turned around just in time to see his eyes travelling over the length of her. There was no lust in his gaze, no hunger, but she could detect something else, something dangerous. Something she had felt months before, that night, in that clearing. She was a prey to him.

"Just like me, you are too loyal to your beliefs," he continued, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "And so heroic. So heroic that, one evening of winter, you would cut yourself off from the rest of the world with a powerful protecting enchantment to save an entire village. So fearless that you would duel your potential killer within your wards to save an entire village, without an escape were I going to be less inclined to let you live. They told me you are a Ravenclaw, but your virtues combined would make you an awfully perfect Gryffindor."

Hermione could only stare at him, a sparkle of fear reigniting deep in her stomach.

"They?" she repeated, removing unnoticeably her hand from the doorknob. She turned slightly on her feet and let her hand slide over her hidden hip.

Grindelwald just smiled and Hermione started to understand.

"Open the door," she said. She rubbed her arm against her hip, trying to free it-

"But Hermione, you just got here," he frowned, taking a deliberately slow step towards her.

"They will come looking for me if I don't go back." She managed to raise her sleeve-

"I don't think they will even notice your absence. Slytherin against Gryffindor, Hermione? Not a chance."

"You caught the perfect opportunity," she observed, seething inwardly. "And to even know that I wouldn't open a letter from Dumbledore in front of my friends... It's brilliant, really." She rubbed her arm down her side, lifting the resistant fabric-

"It was only a guess. I imagined that whatever you meet old Albus for is private. The fact that you were alone when you opened my invitation was pure luck, nothing more."

"What if someone saw me disappear?" Her sleeve was now pulled up as far as it would go without Grindelwald noticing her movements.

"They would be taken care of," Grindelwald said simply, taking another step forwards. Hermione nodded, impressed, screaming on the inside.

"The question now is, how do you know so much?" she asked. The wand fell in her waiting hand.

"Oh, there are far too many articles around, about the most anticipated Quidditch game of Hogwarts, the Prophet doesn't talk about anything else these days. I'm sure you can figure out the rest without my help."

Hermione swung to fully face him, backing up against the door, her wand hidden behind her thighs. "You have spies in the castle" she stated.

His smile was captivating and appalling. "Only one... for the moment."

Hermione blanched. "You want to turn me into a spy," she chocked out.

Grindelwald clapped his hands twice, a broad grin contorting his face. "You really are intelligent."

Hermione shook her head so hard it hurt, "No, never! I will never work for-"

"Imagine," Grindelwald halted her with a hand, his wand-hand. There was no wand, but Hermione still flinched, knowing what this man was capable of. "Imagine my surprise when not only the girl I was duelling was quite powerful and skilled, but close to one of my dearest friends... Touching, how he ran to save you like your knight in shining armour, that night."

Dumbledore.

Hermione felt her knees nearly buckle, but she forced to keep it together. She had to get out from here.

"I won't spy on Professor Dumbledore," she told him, the hold on her wand tightening. "Now, open the door."

Grindelwald closed their distance with two unhurried steps. His voice sounded sad. "I can't, my dear Hermione, not yet. You see, Albus cares for you. You, working for me, it would be just perfect."

"Open. The. Door," Hermione articulated through gritted teeth, standing tall against the door, just a breath away from the dark wizard who was now smiling condescendingly down at her.

He caught a curl between the pad of his fingers and murmured, "Not yet."

This was it. She didn't think or blink, only acted as fury consumed her. She pushed his chest, her wand aimed, revulsion and anger dripping from her order, "DON'T TOUCH ME!  _Expelliarmus_!"

But he was too fast and the Disarming Charm bounced off his Shield Charm, crashing Hermione against the door, her head slamming so hard on the hard surface that her sight failed for a moment.

"You, foolish girl!" Grindelwald spat, a spell ready on the tip of his stick. Hermione hastily dodged it and bustled past him, over the couch, planning to dash behind the desk, reach the window, blast the glass, jump-

"Don't even think about it, Hermione!" he bellowed and something tight and bruising seized her ankles, making her fall on the carpet, dragging her back. Hermione cried in pain, feeling ropes fastening around her limbs, and her body was yanked across the floor to the centre of the room. She tried to wriggle and kick and arch her back, but the curse kept her firmly fixed to the ground; her pinned spine and ribs ached and Hermione couldn't suppress a sob.

"I don't want to use force on you, Hermione." The sight of Grindelwald standing close, so close to her body was blurred. "Tell me you won't escape and use your wand on me again and I shall free you."

Hermione wanted to shout,  _Fuck you!_ , but the pain was unbearable. She nodded.

"Good girl," he purred and then she was free to sit on the floor and all the pain melted away. She didn't protest when the man made her stand and then sit down on the couch, his warm hand gently leading her on the shoulder.

Crouching before her, he tilted her chin. She could see every pore on his skin from this much more intimate proximity, every line at the corner of his eyes- his eyes. She feared his eyes, one so light and transparent and cold, the other so dark and warm.

"Now, Hermione," he told her, his voice as kind as before. "I just want you to hear me out. I believe you will need time to make a decision."

Hermione just looked at him.

"I don't like it when people get in my way and you got in my way that night, Hermione. Fortunately for you, though, you are... special. And useful. You see, in his extensive knowledge of things, Albus Dumbledore is aware of certain things I need to know. The whereabouts of something I've been looking for. My spy tells me you and my old friend are pretty close."

"I could tell him everything when I return. Everything you told me today," Hermione whispered. It wasn't a threat, only a statement. She needed to know how far this bastard would go to ensure victory.

"No, you won't," he retorted easily. "You won't open that pretty mouth of yours because you surely don't want to suffer the next time we see each other. Oh yes," he nodded gravely when her lower lip quivered, "there is going to be a next time, love. Either here, in this quiet study, or at home. Remember Hogsmeade? It's so close to Hogwarts, isn't it?"

Hermione felt nausea rise in her throat and fog her brain. He had plans to-

"But you can avoid it. Besides, you have friends at Hogwarts, don't you? Miss Clearwater and Mr Davies- and Mr Nott and Mr Riddle and even your professor Noel. Say you will work for me and you all are out of danger. Everyone else too, if you ask me nicely."

Hermione's mouth was dry. Her voice came out in a raspy murmur, "And if I don't accept?"

Grindelwald took her hand and held it between his, massaging her white skin with his thumbs. "Then, the next time we cross paths, I can't promise that your death will be quick and painless. I'm actually going to give you a taste of what will happen to you and your loved ones should your answer not please me- now, before I return you to your school."

Hermione shivered, feeling her face drain of colour once again. She tried to wrench her hand from his and get away, but the grip that downed on her shoulders was heavy.

"Oh, Hermione," he tutted, "God knows I don't want to hurt you, but I have to do it. For you, darling."

Hermione choked on a sob, straining her eyes to not leave his, even as she was breaking down, the memory of hours of torture in a dark drawing room echoing in her head.

"P-please," she implored him, "don't."

Grindelwald sighed and stood up. How could he sound so sad when his wand was still in his hand, waiting to be lifted?

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am. This is to persuade and punish you. You  _did_  point your wand at me, after all. If we are going to work together in the future, you must know that I don't take kindly to insubordination. Mutual respect is essential."

Hermione knew what was to come and that being ready for it wasn't going to help her. Had she been a coward, she would be on her knees right now, begging for mercy, but she couldn't even lie to herself; she couldn't fight either, for this sick, dark wizard was too powerful against her limited experience in fighting. The least she could do was swear to herself she wouldn't cry nor scream.

Grindelwald raised the Elder Wand and the last coherent word Hermione managed to form in her mind, before breaking her vow, was  _predictable_.

" _Crucio_."

Thousands knives transfixed her skin, speared her temples, stabbed her stomach, fire burned through her veins, bubbling in her lungs, making her scream and cry and scream over and over again. It was like nothing she had experienced before and it hurt and Bellatrix was laughing at her, the blade in her hand, and then Darkness threatened to engulf her but didn't want to go through with it She was defenceless against the Dark and the shocks abusing her nerves-

The curse was lifted. "Hermione, do you know what I'm looking for? They told me you are quite informed on the subject. That you know the meaning of a particular symbol."

Panting heavily, Hermione snapped her eyes open and found herself on the floor, curled into fetal position, sweat and tears coating her face.

"I-I," she stammered, trying to formulate what she needed to say more times in her head, still failing to bring words onto her tongue. "I-I d-don't know-"

"Pity. To think that I could stop now...  _Crucio_."

It was worse, so much worse. She could hardly make out her own screams and what she heard were the thuds of her heart exploding in her ribcage and then shouts vibrating to her core- where those hers? Make it stop Stop Stop Fucking Stop She trashed her legs and arms, kicking, screaming, begging

It stopped. "Hermione, the symbol."

She found herself stretched out on her back, her hands buried in her hair, fingers scraping her scalp. Her legs ached and blood flowed down her tights, spilling from gashes, over the flesh she had flayed herself, with her own now split nails. Gulping air in generous lungfuls, Hermione guided her hands back down her sides.

"I-I only know... a f-fairy tale... brothers- Nurmengard... Hallows... d-don't exist... myth-"

"But, do you really believe it a myth?"

And in a moment of lucidity, Hermione knew what he was going to do and only a breath later he was there, looming over her weakened form, his eyes everything she could see through a tunnel of darkness, and he was staring back, into her, probing her mind. But for this she was ready.

Grindelwald didn't fall into a bottomless sea of hidden memories. Hermione let him see it: her reading the  _Daily Prophet_ , explaining the symbol to Zaiden, talking about the Hallows in the Library- "It's just a story... In the end every wizard ends up with an ordinary object,"- "I bet they don't exist... Beedle isn't so different from the Grimms... can't say I have never seen you eat a book before-"

Hermione sighed in relief when Grindelwald retreated his mental claws from her mind.

"Looks like you were honest." He was disappointed. "You will forgive me, Hermione, but just to make sure you get the message..."

_No No Please No more_

She didn't hear the incantation because screams erupted from her chest, suffocating everything around her. Flames, ardent blood coursed through her, like Fiendfyre, liquid fire, and she was burning from the inside and she hated him, she hated herself, she hated the pain and she wanted it to stop.

_Oh Please, Death, make it quick Too late to ask for salvation, Death, take me Stop it, Death, can you hear me Fucking stop it please I'm dying I'm burning to ash It hurts_

And Darkness was there, Death only behind, but they didn't move, her soul wasn't being lifted yet, why? Why?

Hermione screamed and screamed her throat hoarse, her body convulsing in electric storms, but was the storm within or outside? Somewhere up there, she thought she could hear drops of water falling on the roof, beating down on the window, magnified against the wooden walls, and she was drowning and she prayed  _Please save me Stop Why isn't it enough You kill me Please I can't-_

_Tom, please, take me away from here Please please Harry, take me to Harry, Death, where are you- Pain So much pain, too much_

"I'm sorry Hermione, God, I'm so sorry."

And she was weeping in his chest, barely conscious, a remote part of her aware he, the bastard, her killer, was carrying her through the corridors, whispering comforting words in her ear, wasting his breath telling her she was brave, "So brave, my little Ravenclaw, no more pain, just say yes and I will care for you, child-"

He kept saying her name, stroking her hair, and she hated him, she had never hated someone so much, but he held her tightly, not caring that her bleeding nose was pressed into his white shirt. She hated him so much more just for that.

"I give you three days, Hermione, three days to say yes," he told her, placing her on the floor of an empty room. He knelt in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  _I hate you, I hate you, you sick bastard._  "Write your answer on this, so I will know it's you."

Grindelwald gave her something, a piece of parchment. He put it into the palm of her hand and forced her fingers to grasp it, gently. Hermione tried to look down to see what was in her hand, but tears were swimming in her eyes. Everything she could see was his sodding sad smile when he tilted her chin.

"I can't wait to see you again, Hermione."

* * *

The Portkey had taken Hermione back to school, just outside the gates. She had collapsed to the ground. Grunting, she tried to call for someone, her throat being too raw to even vocalise a word, but no one was watching the Entrance Gates. No one was supposed to witness her return to the castle, it was obvious. She even wanted to laugh hysterically over the genius of her captor. He had thought of everything, the plan had been perfect indeed.

Hermione wanted to stand and be brave and tell herself she had been through worse, but she couldn't because she hadn't been through so much pain before, she had never felt such hunger for death, not even under the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Not even when she had seen her best friend die.

 _Will you die here? Really?_  Hermione pushed herself up on her knees and spat blood.  _How useless was it, to be sent in the past only to die?_

No, this wasn't the time, she knew, so she mustered all her strengths and rose to her feet, wavering, her wand already pointed in her shaking hand.

The incantation for the most potent Unlocking Charm echoed in the air, still no one stopped her when she walked in familiar grounds. No one saw her stagger on the pathway to the castle and clamber up its steps. Her knees failed her on the third.

" _A-Accio Galleon._ " The fake coin landed in her waiting hand. Hermione struggled to warm it up, her hands kept shaking, but after various attempts she succeeded. She could have done better and add her location, but she was so tired...

Hermione remained there for an eternity, on the steps of Hogwarts, waiting for the world to end. It wasn't so bad after all. It was... peaceful. She wasn't even in pain, not when she couldn't feel her muscles under the weight of fatigue. It was like going to sleep.

Voices and footfalls. They were coming to get her. At last.

Someone inhaled sharply and Hermione strained her neck to see, to blink back the darkness that was dragging her, back to somewhere unknown- A pair of shoes.

 _Tom?_  Hermione squinted her eyes and then her head fell on the cold marble. People here didn't wear sneakers. She wasn't  _here_. She was  _going_  and Darkness covered her eyes-

 _No No Take me away_ , Hermione wanted to scream when Darkness faded and someone lifted her from the armpits, like a child,  _I will care for you, child_ \- No, she didn't want to stay and see him, she wanted to run, she had to run, but arms were wrapped around her so tight-

_It's over. I'm still alive._

"Hermione."

She waited. She waited for Death to end his stupid joke and just fuck off, she waited for the hallucination to disappear, because she knew this was nothing more than an illusion, she knew that  _his_  voice could be heard only in her head and never more in her ears. But his warm hands didn't let her go.

Hermione pulled back from his warm chest and slowly lifted her head, ready to see his face fade away. Green eyes were staring down at her, tearful, angry, familiar and then she suddenly decided that she didn't care.

She didn't care if she was alive or dead because Harry was here. And she was safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I said I would update last week, sorry! It seems I can't keep my promises, ever. Anyway, here it is, chapter 9.
> 
> I must admit I'm kind of nervous for this chapter. I have the feeling that readers are abandoning my story for its complexity and this chapter is long and definitely not an easy reading. I absolutely don't want to abandon this story myself, because I like it, I love the characters and I already know where their destination is, but I also have the feeling that this is getting too serious and slow. Maybe it's me overthinking everything, maybe I'm still not that mature as a writer, I don't know.
> 
> Anyway, the quote on the Portkey is from Shakespeare's Winter's Tale. The first part of the conversation between Hermione and Gellert also refers to the play. The title and theme of the chapter is inspired by Editors' song Salvation.
> 
> Thank you so much for the reviews! I really love reading what you think of my story and knowing that you enjoy it does things to my heart!


	11. Chapter 10 - Sacrifice

 

_I'm sorry, Hermione._

She couldn't move a muscle. His voice kept ringing in her ears. Over and over again. And again.  _God, I'm so sorry Forgive me, love No more pain-_

Pain. She didn't feel it, she felt so... numb. Her head was swimming in the darkness. No matter how hard she tried to command her limbs to move, these didn't listen to her. Her hands were aching to find a more comfortable position from where they were resting, down her sides, asleep, until a warmth distracted her. Warm fingers were travelling over her skin, from her cheek, down her neck and her shoulder... A callused hand covered hers. Someone was speaking softly in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

* * *

When Hermione woke up hours later, the sun was mentioning to disappear from the stained-in-red sky. Cracking her eyes open, the last sun-rays of the day greeted her from the fire they projected onto the metal surfaces of the room – the Hospital Wing. She seemed to end up here quite a lot lately, didn't she?

Grunting, Hermione pulled herself upright, dragging her back up the wall. Her head started spinning.

"Oh, you are awake."

A smiling Madam Killick walked up to her bed, carrying a goblet and a bottle on a tray - _two crystal glasses and a decanter of spirit "You may have slipped something in my glass" "Work for me"_

Everything was coming back too quickly.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione snapped her head up. The matron was staring worriedly at her, biting her lip.

"I was asking you," she said with a crooked smile, "how you are feeling."

"Sick." Hermione found her mouth dry and her throat felt raw as if needles had abused it- it took her only a moment to remember that her own voice had.

Madam Killick nodded and wordlessly handed her a goblet full of water. Drinking greedily the fresh liquid, Hermione almost choked for the second time that day when the doors of the Infirmary burst open.

"Hermione!"

So, she  _was_  dead after all.

Water managing to get into her nose, Hermione coughed and squinted at the approaching figure of a very much alive Harry Potter- followed by one Luna Lovegood and one... was that Theodore Nott?

Had Grindelwald slipped hallucinogens into her drink?

"Now, now!" Madam Killick swung around, a wagging finger in the three new visitors' direction. "Miss Granger just woke up. She needs rest-"

"Dumbledore said-" Harry started, but the older woman interrupted him with a long sigh and a dramatic hand placed on her heart.

"Yes, yes. But only for an hour. After that, out!" And with that, the matron gathered her gowns and left the room at once.

Hermione's mouth had stayed open for a while now; she could only hope that no fly had made its way in when she closed it. Her eyes were wide, fixed on her best friend. Or someone who looked like him. Or...

"Hermione."

Harry crossed the room with three strides and threw his arms around her neck, "Damn it, Hermione, I was so worried. I thought you were- but you are-"

His arms squeezed her chest against his and Hermione felt her windpipe constrict.

"Harry, can't... breathe..." she gasped.

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry let go of her and sat on the bed, squeezing her hands instead. His eyes were tearful, but a smile was forming on his lips. And then she was crying and decided she didn't care if he was an illusion.

* * *

"Wait..." Hermione halted Harry with a hand and then massaged her temples. Her head was throbbing. "You are telling me that the first time you arrived here, it was two months ago?"

"Yes-"

"And that you travelled to the future after that because you had to go back?"

"Yes, that's-"

"And then you travelled to  _today_  because you had to go  _back_  again?"

"That's what I told you-"

"Harry," Hermione asked wearily, frowning, "has one of you thought that the spell was actually meant for a round-trip?"

Silence. Theodore, who hadn't uttered a word until now, cursed under his breath.

Darkness was descending upon the castle, ploughing into the room and prompting the oil lamps lit on their own.

Hermione stifled a yawn in her sleeve and blinked as the fabric that met her face felt different from that of the shirt she'd had on that morning; Madam Killick had probably Vanished the bloodied garment. The mere thought of wearing again those clothes sent shivers down her spine.

"You must sleep, Hermione," Luna said, standing to busy herself with the tray on the nightstand. She turned around with a goblet filled with amber liquid and Hermione thanked her. "Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't stomach food, not now. But... please, stay a bit longer."

Luna sat back in her chair and smiled down at her. Hermione thought that the girl looked somehow different. Not in appearance, but there was something in her eyes: they were harder and grounded and just present.

 _The consequences of war_ , Hermione thought, but then banned all the bad memories from her mind and asked, "So, why haven't you looked for me the first time around?"

Fidgeting in his chair, Theodore turned his head to look out of the window and Harry and Luna shared a glance.

Harry cleared his throat and his best friend knew what he was going to do.

" _The truth_ , Harry," she said threateningly, straightening her back to glare at him. Harry slumped against the foot-board.

"Alright," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's just say that one of us tried to change something, something big-"

"Oh, stop acting the hero, Potter!" Nott snapped, crossing his arms. He looked directly at Hermione and stated in a dispassionate voice, "I destroyed a book, Granger."

"Which book?" she asked, dreading to hear the answer.

"Bullock's book, the one from the past-"

"Bloody hell-"

"-completely my fault, I admit it-"

"Bloody hell, it was you!"

Panting with the effort of her hysterical laugh, Hermione clawed her fingers in her hair before making up her mind and reaching for her pillow.

"Erm, Hermione..." Harry tried, eyebrows knitted together, "what's wrong-"

Luna held her breath as Hermione hurled the pillow at Nott's face with a snarl and incredible force for someone who was lying in a hospital bed.

"Argh!"

Touching his perfect but red nose, Nott stood up and withdrew from the girl, running to the opposite wall. "Damn it, Granger-"

"Come back here, Nott!" Hermione growled, throwing the bed covers aside, her breathing ragged. Knowing what was to come, having been at the end of Hermione's wrath more than once, Harry stood as well and stopped his best friend from whatever she was planning to do to the poor Slytherin.

"No, you don't!" Harry said with emphasis, catching her legs to lift them back onto the bed. "You stay here. Whatever punishment you want to inflict is postponed-"

"Please, let me punch him-" Hermione moaned, pushing Harry's stupidly hard chest in vain. A line of worry formed between Harry's eyebrows as he felt her hot hands through his shirt.

"Trust me, he has already paid for his crime, in the worst way possible," he told her and Nott frantically nodded his head. Harry gently pushed her back on the mattress. "You have a fever, Hermione, just get in bed, please."

Luna chuckled when Hermione huffed at Harry before letting him tuck the white sheet under her chin.

"I don't see a black eye there," Hermione said narrowing her eyes, her voice muffled under the bed cover that Harry was adjusting with care- a still lucid part of her relished in the feeling of the small loving gesture, the feeling of being cared for.

"No need for that," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

Emerging from the shadows, a tall man Hermione had seen die with her own eyes walked under the golden light of the lamps. The first thing she noticed was the absence of his usual sneer, replaced by- was that a smile? No, it vanished immediately and his lips were now set in a tight line, his eyes looking too exhausted.

"Mr Nott is paying for his mistake," he said, sparing Theodore a cold glance, "with an Unbreakable Vow."

Hermione didn't know what the two of them had sworn on and she had the feeling that it was better not to know. She had other questions at the front of her mind anyway.

"How?" she asked, still not believing that her best friend and very dead professor were right here, before her eyes. "Nagini..."

Snape just looked at her, not offering an answer, so Luna spoke, "I saved him."

"You did!?" Harry and Nott cried out in unison.

Luna nodded, shrugging. "I had to tell you something, Harry, that night, so I followed you to the Shrieking Shack."

"What did you want to tell me?" Harry asked, frowning.

Shrugging again, Luna smiled dreamily. "I don't remember."

Hermione smiled too, glad that her Ravenclaw friend was in some ways still the same, and then gandered at the clock. Two hours had already passed but Madam Killick hadn't returned yet from supper.

Catching her concern, Snape conjured a chair between her bed and the other and sat smoothly. "Dumbledore talked with the matron to let us stay one hour more. He convinced Dippet to let her have a short break... not that it was necessary. All the staff must be in the Great Hall anyway. So we must keep watch until she returns."

"Why is everyone in the Great Hall?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Aurors are scouring the castle, not that they will find anything useful."

"You talked with Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Severus replied with a disconsolate sigh. "Yes, he told me about a lot of things, but others I still have to hear, and from you, Miss Granger, while he searches for a way to get us home."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, biting her lip, but no one of them noticed.

"Let's start with the reason why you want to give Nott a black eye, shall we?"

Her exhaustion forgotten, Hermione scowled at Nott and kept her eyes fixed on him as she poured water into her goblet, readying herself for a long conversation. Nott gulped but didn't look away this time.

"Well," she started, clicking her tongue, "let's say that To- Riddle isn't very happy at the moment. He knows someone stole the book."

Pausing a moment, Hermione remembered what had happened in the Astronomy Tower the night of Tom's birthday. She shuddered.

"He thinks I stole the book."

Harry gaped at her. "What!? Why?"

"I-I don't know," Hermione stuttered, pleading Harry with her eyes, for what she didn't know. "He just... just came to the conclusion. He hinted that I was smart enough, so it must have been I who had stolen it-"

"It was warded," Nott said, pushing off the wall to go sit on the foot of the bed opposite hers. "Heavily warded. It took me probably ten minutes to break through."

"This is all your fault," Hermione seethed through clenched teeth. Nott rolled his eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know," he smirked, "or haven't heard from Potter in the past ten hours."

A gentle tap-tap started to sound from outside, followed by the echo of distant thunders behind the mountains surrounding the castle. How much Hermione wished to be out there, under the pouring rain, to wash away the lingering smell of blood that still assaulted her senses.

Questions hadn't been asked yet, but she knew she had to answer sooner or later and revive everything she had experienced. The time given to her to recover seemed wasted when she knew that nothing could heal her soul, not even time itself. She could feel the scar deep within her, invisible on the skin but screaming through her eyes, 'Look at me, I'm here, I happened again, I'm the torture that's visiting you to not let you forget what you are, that you are...'

 _Weak_ , Hermione finished in her mind.

"You have to sleep, Hermione."

Luna tried to stand again and invite the others to leave her to rest, but Hermione took the girl's wrist.

"No," she begged her in a whisper. "You have to know... w-why... why we can't go back. It's my fault..."

Taking her hands, Luna held Hermione's gaze.

"This is  _not_  your fault," she asserted. "Was it your fault you ended up here?"

"I-I... No..."

"Exactly. So whatever happened here  _isn't_  your fault."

A tear made its way down Hermione's cheek and Harry leaned forwards to brush it away.

"Luna is right," he reassured her. "There must be a reason if you are here, so whatever happened isn't your fault. And, hey, we are here with you, aren't we? You are not alone in this."

Nodding, Hermione peered at her best friend's face, barely bearing to see his green eyes staring back, hopeful and alive, knowing that even if they were here in the forgotten past together, the chances to get out were close to zero.

Alive, she repeated in her head.

How? Why? She needed to ask him, but Harry just smiled and rose to his feet.

"You need to rest."

.

* * *

.

Harry was restlessly measuring the length of their corner of the library.

"Salazar's sake, Potter, will you just sit down?" whimpered Nott, rubbing his forehead. "Consuming the floor won't solve a thing."

"How can you just sit there and do nothing, Nott?" Harry questioned, halting in his steps to glower in the Slytherin's direction.

They had set their camp base in the library, deciding that the secluded area of the Forbidden Section was safer than the Room of Requirement as, with the inspections going on throughout the castle, the latter was too distant from the main entrances in case something bad happened. Dumbledore had promised he would find them private quarters by the next morning, but in the meanwhile, their warded corner had to do.

"What else can I do?" Nott grumbled, leaning back in his chair. "Snape already tried to read her mind and ended up with nothing. We can only wait."

Harry banged his fist on the table. "I don't want to wait. I have to find those bastards and kill them."

Nott felt uneasy for sweet and heroic Potter had never looked so murderous before.

"It's just one night," Nott tried to calm him down, "we will know tomorrow. It will be easier for her to speak about it tomorrow. Do you think they...?"

Harry froze for an instant and then looked up, slowly shaking his head. "No, the blood was from wounds on her thighs... But they still tortured her and I'm still going to kill them.  _One or two or ten, they are all dead._ "

Silence reigned between them for a while, interrupted only by the thunders raging outside and making the glass of the windows vibrate.

"Look, Potter," Nott eventually said, hesitating. He didn't know how these things worked. "Look, I'm... I'm sorry."

Harry just looked at him.

"For the book," the Slytherin clarified. "I fucked up. In the series of events, maybe, if I didn't steal it-"

"It wouldn't have made the difference," Harry interrupted him, sinking onto the floor, his back sliding down against the wall. "You heard Dumbledore. He doesn't think Hermione's attackers have anything to do with Riddle. Book or no, Horcruxes or no, they would have taken her in any case."

Nott nodded, unsure of what to say to console Harry. So he weakly quizzed, "Where's Snape?"

"Probably with Luna and Dumbledore," Harry answered, tilting his head upwards to look at the lightning cracking the inky sky.

"Without Dumbledore is more likely then," Nott mumbled under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

Extremely tired, Theodore hunched forwards over the table and leaned his head over his crossed arms. Harry was still staring at the lightning, unwincing when the flashes lit the library ominously, but, again, he carried the universal symbol of storms on his forehead: to be scared of thunderstorms was to be scared of his own face.

Suffocating a laugh at the thought, Theodore pressed one side of his face in his arm and studied the young man who had been so ready to cast aside everything to save his best friend. Harry Potter was brave and kind and determined, all qualities he didn't have.

He, Theodore, was intelligent, cunning, unable to take the initiative to do good but still ready to try is hardest when requested. He was loyal. He kept his promises. Even if said promises could destroy the world as they knew it.

Harry sighed and readjusted himself, tucking his knees under his chin, strands of hair falling over his forehead and covering the bolt-shaped scar. Theodore realised he had never looked, really  _looked_ , at Harry Potter, not while crossing paths in corridors nor during the time spent in the library in the past days.

The way Theodore observed the other boy was objective, the information registering in his brain analytical. He started from his built: Potter wasn't short but it wasn't as tall as himself neither. He was definitely shorter than Ronald Weasley, the comparison coming naturally to his mind since the redhead idiot had been one of the tallest guys back in sixth year.

Potter wasn't one for muscles either. The boy had a certain strength, he played Quidditch, but as the events of that morning had revealed, Theodore could easily overpower him in a struggle.

And then he let his eyes move to his head, a head covered by messy raven hair. They tended to curl at the end of each short lock, he noticed. And his eyes... They were as famous as his sodding name. Forest green, bright, fearless eyes that had stared in the face of Death twice already.

 _There's no two without three_ , he reminded himself, not quite managing to hold spite in his words.

Potter's nose was crooked. Not like Dumbledore's, but there was a faint crook in the bridge of his nose, an unnoticeable imperfection that was likely covered by spectacles.

Harry opened his mouth just as Theodore's eyes descended upon his lips. Theodore hastily averted his gaze in favour of the window.

"Snape made you take an Unbreakable Vow," Harry said quietly. "Why?"

Theodore rubbed his neck, his eyes still fixed on the dark sky. He took his time to reply, "Because he doesn't want me to endanger you all. I had to swear I won't compromise the mission again."

"By doing what?"

"By saving people I can't save."

"From Voldemort?"

Theodore didn't flinch at the name. "From him... and from themselves."

Harry's steady stare induced the Slytherin to leave the dull view of the window.

Theodore explained grudgingly, "Once he became a Knight, my father... he started to, well, become different. It's like Voldemort released something from within him, the dark side that resided-  _resides_  in his followers. Whether this is given by the mere company of the master or the bond he forced them to take, I can't tell."

Harry was looking at Theodore like he had never before, with unwavering attention, his ears strained to catch the soft voice of the boy.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Theo went on, "My grandmother said he wasn't evil. He used to be a good man, caring... Even he, my father, knew that if he hadn't followed Riddle... our family..."

"He asked you to come to the past and fix it?" Harry murmured, his eyes understanding and seeming to see Theodore under a new and completely different light.

Theodore shook his head. "Not exactly. He just said that theoretically someone could just go back and cut off the snake's head before the snake uncoiled and I just... interpreted it as a request for me to go back."

Another moment of quietness fell over their secluded spot. Half-heartedly watching as shadows of trees crept into the room and projected themselves onto the walls, distorted, bending in a diabolic dance against the wind, Theodore lost himself in the tangle of his own thoughts, but a voice that wasn't his own eventually pulled him out from there.

"Snape said something this morning," Harry started tentatively, "that you... destroyed the book to save 'her'."

"Hmm."

"This morning, you were staring at that girl, the blonde one..."

"Hmm."

"Evelyn I think was her name. Have you seen her before?"

Theodore cleared his throat before replying slowly, whispering hoarsely, "Yes. She's my mother."

* * *

Two hours later, Harry still throwing glances at Nott every now and then, finally Snape and Luna decided to grace the other two with their presence. A faint rosy colour lingered in Luna's cheeks but Harry was too busy shredding apart a page of Hermione's old book of Divination to notice, the remnants covering his spot on the floor in very, very small pieces – why his best friend kept the stupid book in her beaded handbag he didn't want to know.

Dumbledore joined their pitiful scene twenty minutes later, walking in their corner of the library just as a distant clock chimed midnight.

"Given the state of your faces," the future headmaster said with a tight smile as a way of greeting, "I would suggest you all to sleep, but I also think we can't delay this conversation any longer."

 _Agreed_ , Harry thought, sitting in a more dignified position, but not leaving the comfort of the cold, hard floor. He didn't feel like wasting energies to get up and go sit in a chair, and the wall against his back was a better support anyway- it was rugged to the point it hurt. Everything he wanted right now, the punishment he needed to inflict upon himself for what she had been through.

Theodore eyed him and then shrugged, taking a seat at the head of the table, Luna dropping herself on his right- Snape chose to lean against the wall under the windows. Dumbledore sat at the opposite end of the table, his ringed hands clasped before him. His face was grave.

"You can't go back," he said without preambles. Right to the point. He could have just stabbed them in the guts and it might have hurt less.

Trapped. In. The. Past.

Shit.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Too many events happened since Hermione arrived. Her name and her face are well known to the Ministry. Hogsmeade saw an attack last month- by Grindelwald's armies – and Hermione found herself partake in the battle with four other students. And a few weeks ago Tom Riddle discovered the nature of the stone encased in his ring."

Snape swallowed hard. "So you know that-"

"-that Tom Riddle was on his way to becoming a Dark Lord?" Dumbledore finished, lifting his eyebrows. Harry didn't fail to notice the use of the past tense. "Yes, Hermione told me. And I suspected."

"The girl told you?" Snape asked incredulously, his eyes widening. "Why would she do such a foolish thing!?"

"I'm to blame, Severus. I asked her to tell me. I also convinced her to use the incident in our favour."

Luna loosed a shuddering breath, her fingers tormenting the butterbeer cork necklace resting on her abdomen. "You asked her to change time."

Dumbledore smiled gently at each one of them, his voice equally soft and kind as he conveyed the cruel truth, "Time had started changing for you the moment she'd appeared on Hogwarts's doorsteps."

 _Of course time would do that_ , Harry thought bitterly, scrubbing his face with a shaky hand.

"Hermione was hurting," the professor continued, "she believed Harry dead and she blamed herself for it. Something about not being able to save him when the Dark Lord killed him. And then Tom discovered the truth about his ring and she hated herself for it too. That's why I thought it was the right time to push her towards the idea of changing her- your future. To give a chance of survival to her best friends, a chance of a better life."

Dumbledore's blue eyes slid to Harry and then Theodore, the familiar faint twinkle flashing behind his spectacles for a very brief moment. "A chance to avoid a big sacrifice and see a future devoid of Darkness."

Harry's stomach clenched. Hermione had been hurting with guilt, because of him. And she had chosen to fight from here in her own way to save her best friends. And his parents. And everyone else who had fought and died for a dream.

But Snape's unforgiving question made his head snap back towards the table.

"At what price?" he asked, something similar to mistrust laced with hatred dripping from his voice.

"Befriend Tom Riddle," Dumbledore answered smoothly, his eyes not leaving Snape's as the latter glowered at him. "Don't look at me like that, Severus. It wasn't easy to request and Hermione didn't take her decision lightly. But she accepted. And with time you will see that I did it also for her."

"That man is mental!" Snape spat. Harry had never heard such venom coming from his ex-professor's mouth, except for that one time he'd had the misfortune to peek into the Potions Master's mind. "You send her to her doom. You have no idea how-"

"I do know what the consequences may be!" Standing on his feet at once, Dumbledore braced his arms on the desk, his eyes narrowed, the softness of his voice gone. Even the rumbling of thunders outside seemed to hush under the silence that fell over the library. "And this isn't yet a man we are talking about, but a boy! I saw what I did, what I will do, I saw it all in Hermione's mind. I saw the monster he becomes, and now... I realise I didn't try enough. I look at the boy I know and see someone who can be saved. I see the way he pretends he doesn't care for his friends and his classmates. I admit I couldn't see it before Hermione arrived here, but now I look at it clearly. He can change. He has friends, he cares for them. With help, he will cease to consider love as a weakness."

 _The old dispute_ , Harry remembered.

Pushing off the wall with a growl, Snape took two steps and braced his arms on the table in Dumbledore's mirroring stance. His voice was a low hiss. "Just know that you forced me to do the same thing you are now asking Granger. She may not be your spy, but she will execute your orders- because that's how your 'requests' work. And if you fail her, if, for any reason-  _any reason_ \- she gets hurt again, or worse- We are done."

 _We_. The five of them.

"We will leave here and never come back."

Harry understood where all that hatred and resentment came from. Snape had been a spy per Dumbledore's orders. To see a young girl waste herself in a similar fashion angered him, naturally, because Dumbledore had always been that, the master tugging at the very thin threads of his puppets- for years, in the overvalued name of the 'Greater Good'.

Unperturbed by the threat, Dumbledore sat back in the chair while Snape remained right where he was. The tension was palpable.

"When will Hermione be dismissed from the Infirmary?" Luna asked, breaking the silence, her fingers now playing with her ridiculous earrings.

Dumbledore cut his gaze away from Snape. "I still don't know," he exhaled with a slump of his shoulders. "Madam Killick will want to keep her for at least one more night, but we must see how her sleep gets."

"What do you mean?" Harry rasped, the first words he spoke since Dumbledore had entered the library. Getting up on his feet, his head spun for a moment, his eyes threatening to fall shut. He really needed a nap.

"That kind of torture," Dumbledore said, shaking his head as if he had seen it with his own eyes. "Most of the natural healing is done while we sleep, that's why she needs rest. But her wounds run far deeper than physical, and those will take time to heal. If her sleep gets difficult, our matron will extend her convalescence."

Harry wanted to go and take his sweet time tearing Hermione's torturers apart. If he had his way, what would remain of them may be less than those pieces of paper he had ripped earlier.

As if reading Harry's mind, Snape lowered himself in a chair and asked, "What if it was Riddle?"

Dumbledore didn't blink as he responded wearily, "Tom will never hurt Hermione."

.

* * *

.

She's in the Hospital Wing. Again.

I wish I could go there and strangle the girl myself since it's her fault that Evelyn is crying all over her boyfriend, making a very pitiful sight in the middle of the Ravenclaw table – why am I sitting here, again?

The foolish girl actually tried to hug me when I returned from the common room earlier, but one glare in her direction stopped her. And that's how I discovered where Feodor had been the entire time, with Evelyn and Zaiden. In the Hospital Wing, or out of it as I understand. And everything comes in full circle.

Hermione Granger is in the Hospital Wing, again, but no one but the matron and Dumbledore have the permission to enter.

When I ask Evelyn what happened, the blonde just cries harder. Oh, come on, she's probably fainted or something. She hasn't been eating regularly – not that I noticed her eating habits, of course.

"There was blood."

I look up as Zaiden answers my question. The boy is pale, his lasagna untouched.

"They left the door open for a moment... she was shaking and she was covered in blood. Her skirt-"

"They didn't!" Evelyn snaps, clenching her hands over the table.

"You don't know for sure," Feodor says gently, brushing a straying blonde lock away from her face, but Evelyn shrugs him off.

" _They. Didn't_ ," she hisses.

"Okay," his boyfriend nods, squeezing her fisted hand. He sighs in relief when she lets his reassuring fingers stay there.

I don't ask other questions for the rest of the meal, I speak to no one and don't answer to Feodor calling me back when I get up two hours later.

"Tom-"

"Let him be, Feodor," I hear Zaiden say.

I'm glad that someone here is still eating bowls of their own bloody business at breakfast. What I do and where I go is no one's concern but mine. Privacy is within my rights, just as knowing what the hell is going on with Granger is - and what the fuck is wrong with this school.

The teachers just ordered for all the students to stay in the Great Hall while they inspect the castle. They even have the cheek to reassure us that this inspection is a routine thing, a mere drill; but rumours travel fast, almost everyone already knows that the Aurors and teachers who were supposed to look over the main entrances and secret passages have been found Confunded. So, anyone is free to enter in Hogwarts for more than three hours and Granger ends up in the Infirmary. This is no sodding coincidence.

 _Covered in blood, shaking_. I clench my hands in tight fists and stalk towards the Hospital Wing, taking two steps at the time, telling myself that I'm not running for her. I'm running for me because I need to stop my mind from conjuring images of something that I'm sure didn't happen.

Two Aurors are pacing in front of the door of the Infirmary, but I easily walk past them with the help of a Disillusionment Charm. I unnoticeably slip in. On the other side, I press my ear against the door but the two men are still silent. Good.

Tucking my wand up my sleeve, I turn and walk further into the room wrapped in darkness, finding it empty except for one occupied bed at the end of it. I near her silently, glad for the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand or else I would have knocked over one of the three chairs trapped between her bed and the other.

Growls of thunders resonate through the thick walls, but Granger doesn't seem disturbed as she sleeps quietly, if not a bit sweatily, in her peaceful slumber.

I haven't talked to her in weeks. I haven't been so close to her in ages.

Rolling my eyes downwards, intending to stare at my hands, I barely conceal a gasp when my gaze falls onto Granger's hands. Purple bruises encircle her tiny wrists, a stark contrast to her pale skin, the signs of rope binding her arms together obvious even to the untrained eye-

_Blood for blood, they will see no mercy-_

I stand up at once. How messed up am I? She's a Mudblood. She's not my business. She's a Mudblood. She's the dirt beneath my feet, yet she's... so...

"Damn it."

I claw my fingers through my hair in frustration and leave the room without taking a final look at the reason for all my confusion and mental pain.

* * *

"I was looking for you," Feodor snaps as soon as I return to the Great Hall. "I had to lie to bloody Dumbledore. The prefects had to go to the Headmaster's office twenty minutes ago!"

I decide to ignore Nott's prim tone. "What did you tell him?"

Shoving my still tight fists deep into the pockets of my slacks, I look around and notice that all the students are still here, sitting at their tables. It must be almost midnight.

"I said I didn't know," Nott replies reluctantly, resuming his seat next to his sleepy girlfriend. Zaiden is drooling over the table, his head pushing into Evelyn's arm.

"And you didn't, right?" I ask, climbing the bench in front of the weird trio.

Feodor scoffs under his breath, "I will pretend I don't know for your sake."

Glaring at him, I lean over the table. "You better not lie nor pretend for  _my sake_."

He doesn't gulp like Malfoy would do, but just rolls his eyes and shares a stupid grin with Clearwater. "They are discussing, the elders. Dippet said we will be sent to our dormitories soon."

"How is she?" Zaiden's muffled voice asks. The boy raises his head enough to mirror the question through his eyes.

"Don't know," I shrug, trying to keep my voice devoid of any conflicting feeling I'm actually experiencing. "She's sleeping. She seems fine."

_Fine? Really? Someone tied her hands and possibly her legs. They took her and made her bleed out her mud-_

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I mutter to Evelyn, rubbing my forehead and willing a very familiar instinct away.

When the clock strikes midnight, Dippet walks in the Great Hall and announces that prefects are to send the students to their dormitories, reassuring us that the castle is very much safe. I rise to my feet and summon the Slytherins. Hurrying through the corridors, I lead my House to the dungeons and then ascend quickly the stairs to the dormitories.

"Hey, Tom, you just right out ignored Slughorn, he was calling you!"

Feodor keeps on pushing his luck, demanding to be listened to. I don't.

Instead, I walk to my nightstand table and non-verbally break the wards. I blindly search through the top drawer until something small and cold meets my fingers. Taking a hold of the ring, I start for the door, glancing at Nott over my shoulder. "I'm going to the library."

"Tom, it's the middle of the night! Slughorn said he will check our dorms after the events of this morn-"

"Then tell him I'm in the bathroom or something!" I shout back, feeling warmth rise in my neck as I spin around and pin him with my eyes. "Salazar's sake, Feodor, you are a Slytherin! A few months ago you would have asked to come with me. That Ravenclaw girl is changing you for the worse!"

"Look who is talking," he mutters under his breath, but I overlook his insinuation, narrowing my eyes to shut him up. I head for the door without further complications.

The castle isn't deserted as usual. Aurors are walking up and down the length of each corridor in a number of two and ghosts are floating from wall to wall. Even the portraits are oddly awake.

This is one of those moments I wish I had an invisibility cloak, but a Disillusionment Charm will do; the original plan was to really sneak in the library but it seems that the night has other ideas for me.

"Everything in order?" an Auror asks his colleague. Holding my breath, I silently walk between them, stepping on an imaginary path in the centre of the corridor leading to the Grand Staircase.

"Yes, yes," the other man replies tiredly. "I come from the first floor. The library was warded though... is that normal? I don't remember it being closed when I was a student-"

"And when was that, two centuries ago?"

"Ha ha, funny-"

Bugger. They closed the library. I don't have the time to ask myself why is that, so I swiftly change direction and ascend the stairs to the seventh floor, praying that the Room is available. Not many in the castle know about its existence, probably only I do, my Knights and few more. Granger too.

The first thought I formulate in my mind is to hide somewhere no one can find or interrupt what I'm going to do, therefore the sight of the Room of Hidden Things isn't what I've anticipated.

The place is dark and immense, its real dimensions unknown and concealed by infinite towers of... things. Books, clocks, other books, plants, cages – and I'm not sure if these are empty – and valuable objects, many of them broken.

I delve into the darkness, leaving shelves and closets behind me, and I stop only when I reach a dim light cutting through the shadows of the Room. The light, though, reveals itself to be just a slice of the night coming through the windows, accentuated at intervals by the bluish flashes of lightning.

 _If only I could see more than my wand permits..._  I don't have the time to finish the thought that oil lamps and candles light up and lift to float, revealing a sort of clearing.

I've been here a number of times already, but there's always something new to see, something yet to be discovered. Entranced by the number of objects a hidden room can collect over the centuries, I look around and notice the sculpture of a beautiful woman I'm quite sure wasn't here before, standing in front of a worn dark cabinet. Next to it, the bronze fountain of a boar looks back at me, the same fountain placed at the foot of the entrance staircase of the castle. Now I wonder which one is the real and which is the copy- no, neither is more likely. The original sculpture is in Florence, hence all the others are copies.

Of the opinion that a share of luck isn't unwelcome tonight, I walk to the bronze boar and place my hand on its cold snout and rub it thrice.

"Sorry, I don't have coins with me," I say, looking at his waiting open jaw, "but, please, wish me fortune anyway. I really need it."

I don't know if the orange glow emitting from the boar's skin is a trick of my eyes and I have no way to be certain of it as the faint light is gone within a blink.

This is it. If I don't do this now, I never will.

Breathing out, I fish in my pocket and pull out the ring. I haven't looked at it for a while, but it's how I remember it. Plain, ugly, the tiny stone bearing the symbol of the Hallows the reason for everything. I know what this stone is. I know how to use it. Because of her. She inadvertently told me about the third most dangerous and powerful weapon of the Wizarding World with a fearful stare that night.

That night in the Tower. I regret that night. And I resent Granger for it, for both my regret and for forcing me to stay away.

"Here goes nothing."

I remove the stone from its setting, slip the ring on the middle finger of my left hand, and then, without further ado, I close my eyes and turn the stone over in my hand three times.

A presence. Who could it be? It's near, in front of me, but I still keep my eyes closed. I'm afraid. For the second time today, I'm afraid.

I didn't fear to die when I was going to crash to the ground from Malfoy's broom, but I felt my heart malfunction while climbing the stairs to get to the Hospital Wing. And now I'm scared to open my eyes and see who is waiting for me on the other side.

But I'm doing this for her, right? I need closure, I need to know what I'm giving up for Granger, what I've been angry for. After this, whatever this is, I will be free from resentment, free to go back to her, if she still wants me- to be friends with me.

Pathetic, that's what I am. And maybe romantic in the eyes of a non-Slytherin, but I'm mostly pathetic.

I open my eyes.

I feel my heart going in atrophy.

The shadow of a woman smiles at me. There are at least two steps between us, still I know the distance is impassable, no matter how close I can get.

"Mother..."

It's her. Merope Riddle inclines her head in a nod, dark shoulder-length curls moving in front of her face with the motion. She tucks them back her ear, her eyes not leaving mine.

"Hello, Tom."

Her voice is warm but distant, not like an echo, but... like a forgotten song. A lullaby. A shiver runs down my spine.

"You doesn't need fear me, son," she says, taking a step forwards, her hands hovering my face but not quite trying to reach me.

I shake my head. "I don't."

I really don't, not anymore. She's nothing more than a shadow, a fragment of a spirit. Her soul isn't even here, it's Beyond.

I straighten my spine and look at my mother in the eyes, making hers go wide for a moment. God, her eyes...

Stretching a loving smile on her lips, she says, "I didn't know what 'at ring was. Neither my brother and father did. I'm glad it was tha who took it."

I say nothing, just wait for her to say something else. I think I like her voice. It's not as melodious as Granger's, but it's pleasant all the same, sweet and adoring. Motherly and caring, everything I've been wanting to hear in my childhood.

"I was waiting to see you."

Yes, I adore her voice.

"And now, now y' are a man. I'm so proud."

I may love her voice but I hate her lies. It seems that I take after my mother with my skills in lying, only that this time I can discern falsehood from truth, no matter how convincing she sounds.

"Proud?" I quip with an incredulous scoff. "My hands are stained, Mother."

Merope inclines her head and looks at me with sorrowful eyes. "They were accidents-"

"Hogsmead. Wasn't. An. Accident," I grit out. "I wanted to torture that man. I killed him on my free will."

"He was gonna kill that bairn. Those men killed his mam, of course y' wanted revenge, 'cause, now, 'at bairn..."

"Because now that child doesn't have a mother."

A single tear leaks down her cheek. "Nay, he doesn't."

I don't speak a word, afraid my voice will betray me, but that question keeps showing up in my head, making sweat bead on my brow and my stomach clench.

"Why?" I finally ask.

When she opens her mouth to answer, to explain why I'm the way I am, I realise that deep down I already know.

"You are the heir of Salazar Slytherin, Tom," she drawls in her accented English. "Us family has allus been pure," she spits the word as if it were filth itself, "and purity comes only when wed between other pure families, between cousins- sometimes, in the past, even siblings- I'm missen product of incest."

The way she expresses herself makes me think of the poor and illiterate girl she had been, slave of her father and brother, living in a reeking hovel in the middle of nowhere. But I don't hate her for it, I don't feel shame for being her son. I pity her, for what she had been through and what she hadn't been able to get. Or give.

"You must understand, mixing blood with our own brought illness down the line, bairns died young or go mad later. Your grandfather was mad, your uncle also, even me was, I thought at first... but you must fight it, Tom. It will tell you to do things you don't wanna do, kill people, let it control your body and mind.  _Don't give in_. The more you listen, the wahr it gets. Don't let it have that much power over you. Don't feed him."

_The more you listen, the worse it gets. Don't feed him._

"Feed me", he's used to say.

Don't feed him.

"You were born from love, not hate," she goes on. "That madness inside you, inside us, knows only hate."

"You say I was born from love," I say at last, going right to the crux of the matter, where everything lies, the truth I still don't want to believe.

" _Love_ ," I repeat, shoving the word off my tongue, disgust lingering in my mouth and making me cringe, "yet you died."

She's about to counter but I don't give her the time, anger finally catching up with me, and I cut her off, "You didn't stay, you didn't fight even for your son. You were a witch, incapacitated and uneducated, but still a witch. You chose not to live. Is that what you call love?"

 _This wasn't love_ , I answer to myself. Despite hating the very concept of it, I know what love means, I see it every day in Feodor and Evelyn's eyes, I see it in Dumbledore's gaze as he smiles at the students, I see it on Granger's face when she laughs with her friends.

Granger would never give up her life for love. She would fight with all her being for it.

"You had a wand and refused to use it," I say in a softer tone, but this time I can't keep the resentment locked in my heart. Instead, I bare it before my mother and scream it from my eyes.

"I had, I had a wand, but I couldn't use it," Merope says, imploring me with her tears. "I was too weak. My magic didn't respond like before-"

"You mean your love weakened you."

"Nay!" She moves in front of me and lifts her hands again, trying to reach my cheek and failing. "Nay, Tom! I  _lost_  love and that made me weak. Please, don't ever think that love is a weakness, 'cause love's so powerful. You could have died that night! I was so weak and knew that I would not make it, but you... You had to live."

She's openly crying now and the need to place a hand on her shoulder hits me in the stomach without warning. I want to comfort my mother and can't do it because she's not physically here. This is so messed up.

"That's why I transferred everything I had to you, my unborn bairn, wishing that what was left of my magic and my love would protect you. And, God, it did. You are alive, a young man, a handsome young man. I'm so proud of you, my love."

My fingers are hurting, squeezed, my nails biting into the skin of my palm. I take a seething breath as two stupid twin tears streak my cheeks. "Don't. Don't be proud of me, Mother. How can you? I killed... I killed people... Killed..."

My eyes unfocus behind the moist that's quickly gathering under my eyelashes. I haven't shed a tear in so many years I forgot how the saltiness stings.

"Please, Tom," my mother begs me. "Don't feed your weakness. You are so loved, so loved..."

She moves her fingers in front of my face again, on my cheek, but all I can feel is the cold air of the Room against my skin.

But... How can I not believe her?

"You have to get rid of this ring, Tom."

I snap my head up and look at my mother.

"You are in danger while the ring's in your possession. People will look for it. You have to-"

"-destroy it," I finish, looking at her, now really looking at her for what I know is the first and last time. I take in her pale face, from her crossed eyes to her straight nose, her hollow cheeks, her lips. My lips.

Mrs Cole had told me my mother had been a plain woman, that she'd appeared on the Orphanage's doorstep clothed in rags. And now I can finally look at her infamous ugliness.

Only that all I see before me is the woman in love, the person no one had ever seen but my father. And this Merope is beautiful and her eyes so loving...

"If I destroy this ring- I won't see you again," I say quietly, my voice barely audible even to my ears.

She smiles.

"I'm allus with you," she says.

Yes, I believe her.

.

* * *

.

The next morning I don't speak to anyone. I answer to Evelyn's greeting with a nod, I give a small smile to Zaiden when he asks how I am and I even roll my eyes when Feodor informs me I look like a hippogriff has just run over my corpse.

"Charming, Feodor," Evelyn tells him and the idiot beams at her before shoving sausages in his mouth.

I leave the Slytherin table when the Great Hall is still practically empty, most of the students not prone to leave their bed too early on a Sunday morning. A very rainy Sunday morning.

"See you at lunch," I mutter to no one in particular, heading for the door.

Aurors are everywhere within the castle, their number increased compared to that of last night, working on what I presume is another layer of wards on the secret passages. Accompanied by an old greying woman sporting practical robes and a white scar running down one side of her face, Slughorn winks at me as we cross paths in the entrance; ascending the few steps to access the corridor for the library, I see Dippet talking animatedly with two women from the Ministry and, at last, right in front of my sanctuary's door, I halt as Dumbledore and a black-haired man pick their way in my direction.

Lowering my gaze to the tiled floor, I resume my walking, adamant that I will reach those double doors without complications: it's already bad that Dumbledore thinks the worst of me for the accidents of the past, but adding Hermione's torture to the list of things Tom Riddle has done and must be interrogated for would be too much to take.

The Transfiguration professor, though, appears to be deep in conversation with the other man.

"-a disused tower, I think you will like it," the old man is saying, his voice grave. "I'm sorry you have to share-"

"No, I don't mind," the other man says, his voice deep and cold. I peer at his face through my eyelids: the first thing I notice is his hooked nose, and the second is his unreadable expression. A mask of coldness, I realise. Beneath, a cunning mind. "The closer we remain, the better. I have to keep an eye on that boy, lest he decides to destroy other things."

"Now, now, don't be so harsh on him. His actions were led by his good heart, can you resent him for that? Besides, it was only a book."

Too soon, I'm nearing the door too soon, and the pair is by now on the other side of the corridor.

"I'm immensely grateful for what he did," Dumbledore adds in a whisper.

The stranger doesn't respond, asking instead, "What about her?"

"I will talk with her later," the professor says, concern clear in his tone. "But I believe we already know who-"

And I hear no more as I reluctantly enter the library.

.

* * *

.

"What the hell is he smiling at?" Theodore asked with a grimace from behind a book –  _Motion and disappearance of Celestial Bodies_  by Corvus Sinistra. He had been staring at Tom Riddle for almost three hours.

"Probably the memory of Hermione covered in blood, his wand pointed at her chest, while he sneers and laughs his throat hoarse," Snape hissed, glaring at the oblivious boy, no book to cover his disgust.

"Erm, that's..." Theodore squinted his eyes, looking for the right words. "That's kind of poetic, Snape. And a little disturbing. You should write psychological novels though, your writing style would put Hardy's to shame."

Theodore easily dodged the random heavily tome that Snape hurled in his direction.

"Weren't you with Dumbledore?" Harry croaked, rubbing his eyes- he hadn't slept a wink last night. Yawning, he propped his head up just enough to read the expression painted on the dark man's face.

"One more minute in his company and I would have hanged myself," Snape muttered under his breath, his obsidian eyes still transfixing Tom Riddle. The Heir of Slytherin was currently seated at a table not so far from them, his gaze lost in space instead of being focused on the book under his nose, a stupid grin plastered onto his stupidly handsome face. "I bet he's daydreaming about seven cruel ways to torture his peers- Or maybe not."

Indeed, Riddle's face had abruptly fallen, his head now turned to look out of the windows, where the rain was still releasing a shitload of water.

"The fact that you can come up with striking book titles is disturbing too," Theodore said in something akin to awe, mouthing 'Seven cruel ways to torture'.

"I don't want to know what or who got to loosen your tongue, Nott, but I preferred it when you kept your mouth shut," Snape drawled, going back to his notes. Time-travel notes, Harry noticed- Snape wasn't one to go down without a fight, or, in this case, a thorough personal research that could disprove Dumbledore.

"I'm bored," Theodore grumbled. The boy had been uncharacteristically talkative and sociable over the past hours, not that Harry minded since he wasn't even listening half of the time, but the change was odd, considering that Theodore Nott had always been an antisocial bookworm. "And Luna isn't even here to play cards with me."

"Lucky her."

"Anyway, who would have guessed that the future darkest lord of all times wore reading glasses?"

Harry found this last detail unnerving. He wore spectacles too and the item didn't make him look more attractive or smart, while the clean round glasses perched on Riddle's straight nose did either things. It really was unnerving.

Harry told himself that at least the monster looked ugly on the inside, but the thought wasn't much heartening.

"The real question is who would have guessed we may get stuck here to listen to you ask such questions," Snape muttered with a long-suffering sigh. "Nott, I'm worried about you. Be aware of what you drink. Constant vigilance."

"Tom, you can't stay here the whole day!"

Harry's sleepy eyes cracked wide open and Snape turned his head over his shoulder. Theodore tensed.

"Why is it I can never hide from you?" they heard Riddle ask, his voice laced with more amusement than real annoyance.

"You haven't tried that hard if you've picked the library as hiding place." The young man grinned at him, crossing his arms over his chest. He was a tall and muscular guy with a baldly handsome face and dark hair and eyes. Harry thought he looked familiar.

Riddle rolled his eyes.

 _Wait, let me rephrase it in my head. Tom bloody Riddle rolled his eyes_. Harry rephrased two more times.

"Come on, get your royal-"

"Do not finish that sentence," Riddle threatened, glancing around.

"-butt up." The other boy scoffed, "I could scream right here, right now, the word 'penis' and no one would bat an eye since there are only under-exams Ravenclaws in this place. They would probably explain etymology and uses of the word. And then there's you. And the librarian- Well, I doubt she has ever seen one, so the sound of it might be scandalous enough-"

"Since when have you turned this talkative and vulgar?" asked Riddle, gathering all his things. Harry couldn't help but notice the way he put his books and scrolls of parchment in his satchel, keeping everything meticulously in order.

"Since my girlfriend curses more than you, me and Darius Flint put together," the other declared, a faint grimace tugging at the corner of his lips. "She also said that I'm not a ray of sunshine and I should joke more. I'm trying."

"I didn't know he had a girlfriend at Hogwarts," Theodore whispered beside Harry.

"Please," Riddle stood in one swift motion, satchel slung over his shoulder. "Not in my presence. Try somewhere else."

"Just know that transforming you too into a ray of sunshine is part of Evelyn's mission."

Harry heard Theodore's sharp intake of breath.

"Salazar spare me," the future Dark Lord sighed dramatically. "And, by the way, everyone knows I'm funny. Funnier than you. The teachers adore my humour."

"Please, Tom. You sound like your cat died and this has been going on for weeks."

"Alright. I will look for another cat, or maybe a snake."

"At last! Tell me your good mood is back to stay-"

Riddle started for the door, talking over his shoulder to his friend, a small smile gracing his lips-

Friend. A real one. Harry had to repeat the term in his mind twice, again.

"Was that your father?" a dreamy voice startled the three of them and Theodore jumped in his chair.

Luna walked around the table, revealing her tired face, but she didn't remove a chair to sit down.

Theodore nodded, his eyes darting to the spot where the boy was standing. "Y-Yes, that's my father."

Sensing the air shift around them, Luna silently the others to follow her. The girl led them to a tower that Harry had never visited- their new headquarters. It was similar to the Gryffindor common room, smaller but still cosy. Yes, Harry wouldn't mind living here until Hermione's graduation.

"Your reaction wasn't so strong when you saw your mother," Harry observed, taking in Theodore's pale face as he sat on a sofa facing the already crackling fire.

Theodore sat on the carpet, his back leaning against the couch on which Snape and Luna took place.

"It's what he said..." the Slytherin breathed, still not believing what he had just heard. "He called my mother his girlfriend. In our time, they weren't together, my parents. I mean, they were friends, but they fell in love after Hogwarts, after many years."

"I thought that heirs from families like yours married very young."

His eyes narrowing slightly, Theodore said more quietly, "They do. My father married a Russian woman as soon as he got out of Hogwarts. My mother too, she married another man. He eventually died and she never remarried."

"So you are..."

"A bastard?" A bitter chuckle. "Yes, I am. My parents met again at one point, when they were both older, and my mother became my father's mistress. She wasn't that old, not by wizards' standards anyway, so she fell pregnant. Out of wedlock, carrying a married man's child- she tried to keep it a secret, but... they eventually found out."

Snape was looking at his ex-student like he had never really seen him before, waiting for him to continue. Harry and Luna too braced themselves for what was to come, but nothing could have prepared them for what Theodore said next.

"Her family killed her."

Not his.  _Her_  family.

The rain pouring outside increased in force and the howling of the wind slithered through the walls of the castle. Harry shivered, but not at the chilling sound.

"They hurt her the Muggle way and dumped her in the forest behind my father's manor a rainy night, a still breathing baby left to die in the cold- a small mercy. She was alive when they left her, but still condemned by the weather and the filthy piece of paper nailed to her stomach."

 _Nailed... Oh God. What did the note say?_  Harry realised he had voiced the question out loud for Theodore's eyes turned dark, a shadow descending over his face. His voice was cold and filled with loathing and disgust and sadness and grief. And guilt.

"Whore."

A rainy night, not so different from yesterday's, in a forest of the north. A woman and a newborn child left to the elements. Left to die.

"Why?" Snape murmured, horror painted on his face. The same horror Harry was picturing in his head.

He and Theodore... they weren't so different. Their parents had been snatched from them, either from Voldemort or the barbarity of the world. And to know that behind the former mask of quiet and distance was such a story of cruelty and loss- yes, it was worse than Harry could have imagined.

Light dancing on his face, Theodore kept staring into the fire as he shrugged off whatever dark thought was invading his mind. "My mother didn't grow up in a loving family. Her parents were cold and inclined to impart discipline, mental and physical. Even Voldemort would pale seeing what her father was capable of- he was evil incarnate. I never met the man, he died when I was twelve, before I could learn the truth and go torture him myself and then kill him very slowly.

"My mother was already in her fifties, hardly a naive young a girl, but being a widow, her life still bound to her husband's family and her own, the discovery of her relationship with my father was reason for shame for both families – not the Notts, though. Pure-bloods they may have been, but they always had a heart. My grandmother was the loveliest person in the world and she'd cared for my mother like the Clearwaters had never done.

"Getting pregnant, though... That's unacceptable, an insult to two important families. Politics and economics are based on marriage. Such a damage couldn't have been contained, rumours would have spread sooner or later... That's why- that's why they did it."

Pause.

"By the time my father found my mother in the forest, there was nothing to do to save her. I survived."

Motionless, his elbows poised on his raised knees, Theodore didn't turn as Luna emitted a very soft sob, not when he was absorbed in the image he could see behind his dark eyes. Eyes from which tears weren't glistening, even when his voice sounded wholly broken as he spoke after a minute of silence.

"Although she was already dead, the protective shield around me was still intact."

Harry closed his eyes, a long-forgotten voice screaming, pleading in his ears-  _Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry!_

Evelyn had used the weak threads of magic that was left in her to save her son, a child born from love. She sacrificed her life for that love.

_Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything..._

"What now?" Luna asked, wiping away the tears with her sleeve.

Blinking once, twice, Theodore turned to look at them, his lips slowly fixing into a grin. His chocolate eyes twinkled.

"Now," he said, two dimples creasing in his cheeks, "now she's safe. I don't know how they got together, but if my father calls my mother his girlfriend in public, then it means that he already got permission from his family- to ask her hand. I doubt her parents will deny him, we Notts are Sacred Twenty-Eight. If only it had been this way the first time around..."

Luna leaned forwards to ruffle Theodore's hair, smiling, "I do know how they got together!"

The Slytherin gave her a questioning look.

"Your mother and Hermione are friends," she told him simply.

Understanding, all four companions smiled... and thought that mistakes and incidents can turn into something good after all. Theodore was proof, as was the new love between his parents. And, perhaps, Tom Riddle could become proof of it too. Perhaps Dumbledore was right.

But the relief was short-lived. Straightening her spine, Luna sobered, the glaze in her eyes dimming considerably.

"I was with Hermione and Dumbledore," she informed them, and Harry adjusted in the sofa to fully face her. "She told us everything- about what happened yesterday."

Snape clenched his jaw, lips pursed, but Harry immediately said through gritted teeth, "Who."

Luna didn't appear offended by the harshness of his voice, the demand in it. She understood.

"Gellert Grindelwald."

Harry stood at once, cushions tumbling over the carpet, and Theodore fought the instinct to recoil at the sight of the barely contained wrath, the gentleness in those forest green eyes completely gone.

"I'm killing him."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things about this chapter.
> 
> First, I apologise for the poorly written dialogue between Merope and Tom. In the first version of the dialogue, Merope speaks everything in Yorkshire accent (the common dialect since there are far too many accents in that area), so I wrote words like y', mi, 'at, t', nor etc... but I realised that for readers from around the world, reading such a paragraph could be quite difficult and annoying. So I wrote a second version, this one, where I kept the dialect at a minimum... and then abruptly stopped using it after I write '"You are the heir of Salazar Slytherin, Tom," she drawls in her accented English'. From there, Merope speaks standard English with a bit of slang here and there.  
> So, if you find this part horrible or have suggestions, please, let me know!
> 
> Second thing. Sorry for the depressing theme of this chapter. I won't lie, I cried all over the keyboard while writing Theodore's tale, but it had to be done.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 11 - Mercy

 

It's the first time I dream her. My dreams and nightmares are plagued by her face. I see it everywhere, while I look for a book in the restricted section of the library, walking down between endless rows of ancient tomes. I see her hair from the corner of my eye every time I open a book- only to find blank pages.

Every single time. Empty pages.

Her shadow running behind yet another bookcase. Her wild hair in her wake.

And the blank pages and wooden shelves threaten to swallow me whole just as I attempt to go after her.

But I should have known better. I should have known that, of course, she would be the one to eventually come for me.

Hogwarts Library melts into a curtain of darkness and a storm rages in this place. I never see how it starts, it just happens. Just as it happens that I find myself in the drawing room. I never remember how I get here.

I close my eyes as splinters of glass slice the air and shards are scrunched under my feet. Still, when I will my eyes open again, the vision doesn't change. He is here too. Their corpses as well. The smell of blood is nauseating.

The sight of my grandparents drowning in their blood is nauseating. I retch but not quite manage to get anything out of my stomach.

My father, his hair – my hair – stuck to his face by blood, is sprawled on the ground not far from his parents, his arm outstretched over the Iranian rugs, his fingers inches away from those of his mother. His eyes are wide open, staring above, but are already empty. Horror painted on his face. Dead.

My chest hurts. I did this- I did this.

"Yes."

_Will you show me mercy?_

"You did this."

_Will you show me mercy tonight?_

"Mercy? Did you show them?"

No. No, I didn't. But I didn't want to kill them. It was-

"An accident?"

I stare at the mayhem I caused, the storm shattering every object it finds on its path, every fabric, every surface, scratching their skin, shredding my heart. Raping my soul.

"Yes, it was."

The shard of glass is already in my hand, the edge so sharp it draws blood from the pad of my fingers. I don't remember him passing it to me.

"But it was  _your_  magic. You wanted to do it... deep down."

On my knees, blood soaking through my ripped trousers, I lift my arm and angle the shard of glass, resting it on my chest. Just above my thundering heart.

_No mercy tonight, it seems._

It's always so painful to wake up. I know what to expect, the feeling of the cold glass piercing through flesh and bones- sometimes by my hand, sometimes by his.

"You must wake up remembering what you have done. For the rest of your life."

Fair enough. Maybe I should do it when I wake up too- pick up a blade, so I won't have to go through this torture again.

"Or you could just embrace the pain. So much power. So much hunger."

Someone had told me something, something important... but I can't remember.

"Feed me."

What was it? I forgot. It seems like years have passed and smoke and ashes shroud my memories.

It was something my mother had said- the thought coming to me in a heartbeat.

What do I have to do? Wake up or... do something else. Should I wake up?

"Feed me."

"Fight it."

But I should have known better. I should have known that she would be the one to find me. I did my best to ignore her, but here she is.

She, who is the dirt beneath my feet, yet she's the only light that seems to make me look away from their bodies, from the weapon in my hand.

Hermione walks hesitantly through the storm, her eyes desperate, begging. I swallow blood at the sight and avert my own eyes, dropping my head, ashamed. Ashamed of what I've done, ashamed for what she's seeing.

"Granger," he falters upon seeing her. He frowns.

"Fight it," she cries, but he takes the shard of glass from my hand. He stands, blocking her out from view, sneering down at me.

"You can't fight me," he tells me, loud enough for her to hear over the noise. "You pushed her away because of me... and look what they have done."

I want to fight. I want to move, get on my feet, take the weapon and stab his heart.

"They tortured her. Do you think they touched her? Evelyn darling thinks they didn't. But Zaiden saw the blood running down her legs... This makes me angry, yet you did nothing-"

"Fight it!"

"It's your fault. But you can redeem yourself. You can avenge her. Feed me."

_You wanted to kill her._

"And you almost did. And now she's hurt. You have to wake up, Tom, literally, and understand that whatever you do, no matter how hard you try to push her away, how hard you try to push me away- you have to understand that you can't bury the pain of what you have done forever. You must embrace it-"

"Fight it!"

I do.

He looks surprised as I snatch the fragment of glass and thrust it into his chest.

Only that, when the glass meets the flesh, Hermione screams.

And it's my heart who is bleeding out.

.

* * *

.

"Absolutely not. It's out of the question."

"But..."

"NO, Granger! We will deal with the consequences, but you don't move from here. What he's asking... it's out of the question."

Hermione slumped back into the pillows, glaring at the man pacing in front of her bed.

"This is me, all over again," Snape was muttering, a hand covering his mouth and uncovering it at times to wipe his face. "It starts with the promise of death, then I don't have any other choice but to obey, become a filthy spy and follow orders from two masters. Stories always repeat themselves. It's the snake eating its own tale. It's a bloody  _curse_!"

Arms crossed, Hermione tilted her head to look at the giant windows of the Hospital Wing, water running down the glass. It was still raining, but she didn't mind. The sound was soothing, so different from the distant noise that had done nothing to cover her screams back then... in  _his_  house, when he was torturing her. That morning the rain of the north had been too gentle to offer her comfort while the desire for Death devoured her. Too distant to cling to it and pray to survive.

No, the rain had been a ghost that morning and she had prayed for Death. But this was something she would never tell anyone.

"I have no other choice," Hermione said weakly, her eye falling onto the untouched food placed on the overbed table. The simple idea of eating a bite of bread had made her stomach churn since the evening before. She'd spent the night throwing up and her guts had started settling only a few hours ago; she had no intention of messing with them just now, even if Luna was doing a very great job at keeping her eyes narrowed on her as if trying to mentally order her  _eat eat eat_.

"Yes," Snape insisted, finally halting in his pacing to brace his arms on the metallic foot of the bed. "And it's to do nothing. Don't send the note. Whatever he does, we will deal with later."

"He threatened my friends!" Hermione snapped with her remaining forces. She was still so weak. "He threatened Hogwarts! That's what you want to deal with? Grindelwald entering the castle? It will be a massacre!"

"You don't know..."

"Think, professor! It was so easy to manipulate the security on Saturday and get me out, it won't take him months of planning to get himself  _in_. He's one step ahead of us!"

"She's right," Luna nodded and Hermione almost got up from bed in order to kiss her. "But we do have important information against him as well."

Severus turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

"In his arrogance, Grindelwald let something vital slip," Luna explained, standing to walk up to the window and look outside. It was almost noon but the sky was the same grey of the evening before. "Something essential that may let us be a step ahead of him: he told Hermione he has a spy in Hogwarts."

Severus scoffed, "Yes, but it will hardly let us have power over him-"

"You are not listening," Luna interrupted him in a stern voice that Hermione had never heard before, not from her. "Grindelwald told Hermione he has a spy in Hogwarts. One spy."

Frowning, Severus nodded, remembering that part of the conversation where Hermione had reported everything Grindelwald had said.

"Kill the spy and we stall the master," Severus pondered.

"Or use the spy and kill the master," Hermione considered, her brain already at work, possibilities taking form in her head. "But how to get to the spy?"

Not Luna nor Severus responded and that's how the three of them spent the following hour, looking for a way to locate Grindelwald's spy – hoping that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord really had only one of his minions in Hogwarts.

When Theodore and Harry walked into the Infirmary, everyone was still, positions varying from head cradled between hands or head banging against the wall.

"Stop or you will hurt yourself," Harry admonished Hermione, crossing the room to sit on her bed. He placed a hand on her forehead and hissed at the contact with hot skin. "You are burning up."

Hermione closed her eyes. She had tortured her head for minutes now, but she still didn't feel anything but warm hair sticking to her skin and her stomach turning over and over again in an ominous way. She felt numb, comfortably so.

"It won't go down," she murmured, opening her eyes again to peer at her best friend. "Madam Killick tried everything, but the effect doesn't last."

Severus angled his face to scrutinise her without saying anything. Theodore studied Hermione from a distance, but he too kept his mouth shut.

"That's strange," Harry commented, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe I should immerse myself in iced water," Hermione suggested weakly. "My grandmother put ice in the tub once, when I was 8, after my temperature had reached 41°C."

"That's barbaric."

"But it worked. She was all against the use of analgesics and antipyretics, stuff that my mother would have given me at the first hint of fever- but she was working that day, so Grandma took the opportunity to feed me all her magical herbs."

The fever was loosening Hermione's tongue, opportunity that Theodore had been eager to take from the day before, since he had been looking for a conversation partner for the past two days. Harry suspected that someone was hiding something like mood pills in the Slytherin's food for the boy had never talked so much in perhaps his whole life.

"Magical herbs?" Theodore repeated, a glint of curiosity in his blue eyes. "Your grandmother was a witch?"

"No, no," Hermione chuckled. "It's just what she called her selection of alternative medicine. Magical because it worked like magic. She was a believer in nature... When she needed a trip, she always went for what nature had to offer instead of chemical products."

Harry snorted and even Severus cracked a smile, but Theodore just looked confused.

"Trip?" he asked. "Did she love to travel? Did she go into the wild?"

Hermione laughed, the sound coming out too frail for Harry's taste. "In a sense, yes."

The inhabitants of the Hospital Wing shared a moment of silence interrupted only by the howling of the wind.

"So, what are we going to do?" Harry asked, wrapping his hand around Hermione's. Everyone turned serious and Luna told him and Theodore about the existence of The One Spy.

"We set a trap," Theodore stated instantly after Luna finished her retelling. "The fact that Grindelwald let such an important detail slip shows how arrogant and full of himself he is. We use that."

Harry blinked at Theodore, thinking he looked and sounded like a male version of Hermione. Hermione too was gaping at him, certainly berating herself for not having thought about a trap right away. The plan was shaping itself as the boy spoke.

"We deliver the note," he was saying, standing in a swift motion and shrugging off his jacket to place it on the back of his chair. "Granger tells him she's in and we cross our fingers that Grindelwald orders his spy to get her out one way or another. I'm sure he will order that immediately- a real arrogant bastard wouldn't doubt the finality of Granger's agreement. He won't even entertain the idea that she will play him. I mean, he has threatened Hogwart's safety... he won't hesitate because he doesn't know about us. We have the element of surprise here.

"So the spy will contact Hermione, possibly through a note- because now we know Grindelwald is the poetic type," a brief dirty glance at the crumpled note placed on the bedside table, "and a piece of paper with a line from Shakespeare is just that, a piece of paper. Undetectable... I admit it's an amazing and simple solution-"

"Stop praising the bloody bastard, Nott," Severus growled darkly.

"Yeah, sorry," Theodore shook his hand dismissively and concluded, "We follow Hermione. We catch the spy. We win. Simple and clean."

Hermione's mouth had fallen open sometime after Theodore had started speaking.

"No one will be a double-agent again this way," he added, looking at Severus. "And the massacre that bastard promised is postponed."

"That's..." Luna started, at a loss for words, but Hermione finished for her.

"Brilliant," she breathed, a real smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Grinning from ear to ear, Theodore sketched a dramatic bow.

* * *

The fact that anything could go wrong once Hermione sent Grindelwald her agreement did nothing to deter her. Determination was on her side this time; she wasn't to go into the den unprepared and without a clue of what was to come because this time she knew what was expected of her and what she was planning to do... and that was to bring down the bastard, once and for all.

Evelyn, Feodor, and Zaiden dropped by the Infirmary later that evening. It was the first visit they were allowed to and Evelyn broke down in tears as soon as she saw her best friend.

Happy to see them again, Hermione realised how much she had come to care about her new friends when Zaiden told her how worried they had been and how many hours they had spent outside the double doors, the morning of the accident, just for an update from Madam Killick.

"I thought Evelyn was about to Stun the matron at some point," Zaiden was saying, a small smile playing on his lips. "But then Dumbledore promised us we could come visit you in two days... and here we are."

Hermione smiled at him, internally frowning at how much the young Davies looked like Harry when he had been his age. The boy had the same rebellious dark hair and golden skin- his shining eyes were light blue, though, but it was a minor difference when the rest of him screamed of Potter. Even Charlus didn't come so close to looking like Harry with his flat brown hair and mocking brown eyes.

 _I can't wait to watch Harry's face when he sees Zaiden_ , Hermione thought with a smirk.

"I'm sorry you spent so much time worrying about me," she said, looking at each one of her friends in the eye. "I don't know why Madam Killick didn't want you here, it's not like I've been in pain or something, I've been sleeping most of the time-"

She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth, bracing herself for questions she wouldn't be able to answer; not because she didn't feel up to it, but because Dumbledore had strictly forbidden her from sharing the information, and with good reason.

Someday, perhaps, she would tell them what had happened because she owed them an explanation. Evelyn and Zaiden had looked for her that morning, after all. It was also thanks to them if Harry had found her.

What Feodor said next, though, was worse than a question about the reason for her current predicament.

"Yes, Tom told us," he said, slouching back in his chair, "We stopped insisting with Madam Killick after the first day, when Tom said you were sleeping. We were still worried, obviously, but he said you looked alright."

A wave of heat rose from her neck to her cheeks and Hermione thought she was about to hyperventilate. Tom had been here? To see her?

 _No. No, impossible_ , Hermione scolded herself.  _He probably just saw me by chance, it's not like he would purposefully-_

"Tom sneaked in while the Aurors were searching the castle," Zaiden nodded, his eyes piercing Hermione's, seeming to try to read something in them, an emotion or an information. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know what he was exactly looking for. "I never saw him so upset."

_This is surely about another Tom. Tom Riddle wouldn't be upset over me- or maybe he would be. I ruined his Quidditch's celebration, his moment of glory. Yes, that's why he came here. He hoped I would be awake so he could vent his anger on me._

"Yes, the lad was snapping at everyone the whole evening," Feodor laughed, shaking his head at the memory of Riddle barking at him. "He even missed a meeting with Dippet. Thank Salazar he calmed down... he's doing so much better these days. I will never understand him. He even told me a joke this morning, can you believe it? It was about a Slytherin and a bed-"

Something wasn't right. Jokes and Riddle were two lines in space that were destined to never meet, ever, and Hermione was a firm believer in said theory. Again, for the millionth time, Hermione thought back to the young man who despised her so much: first he liked her, or so it seemed, then he hated her, and this she knew without a shadow of doubt, and then he got angry because...?

Tom Riddle was, in Hermione's opinion and direct experience, living up to his name. He was a complete mystery to her.

"He..." she started to ask, unsure how to put it without sounding as frustrated as she felt. "He didn't come with you?"

"Oh, right, I forgot!" Evelyn exclaimed, slapping a hand to her forehead. Hermione raised her eyebrows as her friend rummaged through her bag, pulling books and papers and throwing them onto the bed in the process. "He... said to... give you... where is it- there!"

Emerging from what could have been Mary Poppin's bag, Evelyn thrust a box in Hermione's lap, beaming.

Curious, and slightly suspicious, Hermione inspected the small canister and the folded note attached with a Sticking Charm to its lid.

"Tom said to give you this," Evelyn explained, grinning at her with that knowing grin only she could muster. "He would have come with us, but he's stuck with Dippet in another meeting about I don't know what because he won't tell."

Feeling her heart constricted in her throat and, for some unknown reason, something suspiciously similar to butterflies rolling in her stomach, Hermione easily removed the note from the lid and unfolded it. Neatly written on the small piece of paper, Riddle's message was short, impersonal, something Hermione would have expected to read- yet she was disappointed. She turned over the note for more, knowing already that the other side was empty. Sighing, she turned the note once again and re-read it:

**Don't eat it all at once.**

**Get well soon,**

**Tom**

Forgetting about her friends sitting around her, talking about some prefect meeting or another, Hermione placed the note on the bedside table and then studied the box resting on her thighs. It's just food, Hermione told herself, trying to placate the violent pounding of her heart against her ribcage.  _Come on, it's not like he got me flowers or a heart-shaped card!_

Slowly lifting the lid, Hermione peered into the box and gasped, averting her eyes immediately.

It was worse than flowers and get well cards. So much worse.

"What is it, Hermione?" Evelyn asked, frowning at the reaction of her friend.

Hermione shook her head, forcing herself to look back at Tom's present. At Tom's  _idea_  of present. Tom's idea of an  _adequate present_  for an ill  _acquaintance_.

"Oh, that's so sweet!" Evelyn declared, smiling adoringly at the book-shaped chocolates. There were at least twenty of them, all in various colours and sizes- it really was sweet. Hermione couldn't deny it was probably the sweetest present she had ever received, literally.

Tom's inside joke wasn't wasted on her either... she remembered that night in the library, the bittersweet taste of its memory- _I can't say I've never seen you eat a book before What books do you prefer eating?_

No, this wasn't a present from an acquaintance to another. This was... more.

Hermione didn't know what to think about it.

Without a care in the world, Nott reached into the canister and helped himself to a white chocolate tome, a moan escaping from him as soon as the sweet met with his palate.

"Seriously, Nott?!" Evelyn cried, punching her boyfriend's arm. "Couldn't you ask permission first- Zaiden!"

Snapping out of her daze, Hermione laughed as Zaiden dodged another of Evelyn's legendary punches and stole another chocolate.

"Sorry, 'Mione," Feodor said, closing his eyes in bliss for a moment. "But they were calling for me. Besides, I helped Tom choose them. We realised we didn't know what was your favourite flavour, so his majesty decided to take one of each... hence, I have to try at least two now."

"I can't really see your logic, Nott," Hermione chuckled, collapsing against the pillows and sliding under the bed cover. "But you are welcome to eat how many you like."

"Well, in that case..." Evelyn eyed the chocolates and bit down her lip, making Hermione laugh louder.

* * *

The hour went by quickly and Hermione pouted when her friends had to leave for supper. They promised they would come see her the next morning before lessons, but tomorrow felt too far away, separated by a long night of nightmares and throwing up.

As usual, Madam Killick left her office to go to the Great Hall as well, but not before checking Hermione's temperature and tsking at the non-existent progress of her patient. But Hermione didn't care about the fever, she barely felt pain beside the hot numbness that had overtaken her body and mind.

Harry and Theodore entered the Infirmary as soon as the matron stepped out. Both were wearing matching expressions of what could only be described as grief.

"I'm not dying," Hermione told them, rolling her eyes when both boys glared at her.

"I don't like this plan," Harry grumbled, sitting in the chair that Zaiden had just vacated. Theodore sat on the bed next to hers, his back bent forward in defeat, arms braced over his knees, his head lowered to the floor. Hermione deduced that Theodore didn't like the plan either.

"It's this or fight him when he comes to kill us all," Hermione said tiredly, sitting up on the bed, legs crossed under the covers. She managed to not shudder when she retrieved the note from the first drawer of the bedside table- not Tom's, unfortunately.

Snatching it from her hands, Harry studied the Portkey that Grindelwald had used to transport Hermione to him.

" _It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen appear in person here in court. Silence_ ," Harry read the words that Hermione now knew by heart, after having read them herself every time she felt like remembering how it had been, appearing before him and getting tortured for the second time in her life, by the Cruciatus Curse and more. She remembered how it felt, the red light striking her chest and shaking her limbs like a raging storm-

_I'm sorry Hermione, God, I'm so sorry I hate you, I hate you, you sick bastard_

"It's Shakespeare, you said," Harry looked at Nott, who was still sulking at the floor. "From what is it?"

" _The Winter's Tale_ ," Theodore replied without looking up. "It's the prelude of a trial against Hermione, Queen of Sicily. She's accused of treason and infidelity by his insane husband, the King. The quote was Grindelwald's idea of dramatic invitation to his own bloody court- the sick bastard."

"His idea of invitation to my own trial," Hermione said bitterly, bending forward to take back the note from Harry. "Can't really say he didn't sentence me."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, looking down at his knees.

"Don't be an idiot," Hermione said, offering him a small smile. "You have nothing to apologise for. Anyway, we should proceed."

For the first time since he had entered the Hospital Wing, Theodore lifted his head and waited for Hermione's next move- the pen was still on the bedside table.

"It's only us?" Hermione asked, frowning at Snape and Luna's absence. Even Dumbledore wasn't present to their potential downfall.

Theodore nodded. "Dumbledore is working on a plan with Snape and Luna. I believe the whole school will be involved in this one, indirectly. They have to conclude before Grindelwald receives the note... that's everything I know. And, by the way, the note... we have to send it now."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione asked herself what kind of plan Dumbledore was working on that could involve the other students. The old man was playing with fire.

"If Dumbledore's not ready-" Harry started speaking, but Theodore cut him off.

"I'm certain they have their plan by now," Theodore said firmly, his tone back to the usual indifference that both Hermione and Harry had barely heard during their school years. And to say that Hermione had started to appreciate his company and eagerness to talk...

Looking at Harry through narrowed eyes, Hermione tilted her head and imperceptibly pointed her chin in the Slytherin's direction. Despite the situation and the weight of what they were going to do, Harry grinned.

"He caught Luna blatantly slipping one of her special roots' powder in his evening coffee," he explained, laughing as Nott scowled at him. "She has been drugging him for the past two days because she thought it was better to have Nott in a good mood, considering the situation. I mean, he almost passed out when he saw Evelyn and then there was the remorse about the destroyed book that just added to the load-"

"I'm still here, Potter," Nott hissed, glaring at Hermione, who was now openly laughing at her conjured image of Luna slipping roots in their drinks while sniggering evilly. "When you two stop laughing at my expense, we have to send a note to Gellert Grindelwald."

That shut them up at once and all three turned serious.

Hermione swallowed down fear, her trembling fingers hovering over the piece of paper, unable to touch it while memories of where that thing had taken her flooded her mind. Lost in a labyrinth of torture and threats, Hermione didn't notice the pen that Harry had gently placed in her hand.

"We don't have much time, Hermione," Nott said softly, leaving the bed to kneel beside hers. "The third day is almost over."

Managing to tear her eyes from Grindelwald's note, Hermione looked down at Nott and whispered, "I don't want to do it. I'm scared."

"I'm scared too," he told her, his voice quiet and soothing. He squeezed her left hand. "But this will buy us time and a chance not only to survive, but to save everyone. And if this isn't reason enough for you, think that we have already been through a war, against Lord Voldemort. This is Gellert Grindelwald. We already know that he can be defeated."

Theodore was right, completely right. Grindelwald couldn't be worse than Voldemort.

So Hermione nodded and looked back at the pen she was holding in her sweating hand. Without overthinking what she was doing, without imagining what the consequences may be, three letters formed under her moving hand, on that loathed crumpled piece of paper.

**Yes.**

Harry and Theodore exhaled at the same time.

"How do we send it to him-"

Harry didn't make it in time to finish the question that the note disappeared under their eyes with a sudden flash of light.

"I think that answers it," Theodore commented, standing up. "Viator Charm."

.

* * *

.

I don't know what was going through my head when I decided to buy Granger chocolates. I'm sure she's laughing her throat hoarse at my idea of present for a friend. Or a former friend.

Why do I always have to stop reasoning when it comes to her? Why chocolates? Why book-shaped chocolates? Even Nott smirked when I wasn't looking and I heard him snort when the woman behind the counter asked me, "An early present for your girlfriend?"

It took me a whole minute to realise that Valentine's day is in two weeks and that the woman totally misunderstood... everything. And this was two days ago.

Today I'm stuck with the other prefects, Dumbledore and Dippet in a classroom on the first floor, depriving me, once again, the opportunity to see Granger and make things right. This has been going on for hours now, since lessons ended. In the back of the room there's even a team of Aurors; among them, sitting beside a girl with dirty blonde hair and weird earrings, there's the man I saw walking with Dumbledore two days ago, on my way to the library.

I'm too preoccupied thinking about a certain bushy head to pay attention to the meeting, not that people are discussing anything interesting anyway. Events are not my forte and, are they serious? How can such an event be held in hard times like this, when there's an official war going on, and how it can be beneficial to the students and ex-students is beyond my scope of comprehension.

People think that stolen moments of fun help forget about the pain, even if only for a few hours, but they are wrong. Such happiness can only do worse, it can only remind how messed up the world normally is, when the lights go off and masks fall to the ground. Stolen moments of fun only prove how sick reality is by contrast. It's like getting drunk, forget everything that's bad for just one night, and wake up the next morning with a severe hangover.

Welcome back. You thought it had been a nightmare? No, it's very real.

This is why I only nod when the headmaster asks our agreements for the event- it would be one against the whole school anyway. No sane boy of my age would pass such an opportunity to get pissed and forget. I am no sane boy.

The meeting goes on and on, details are discussed, tasks are assigned and we all miss dinner. At nine, at last, Dippet announces that the torture is over and I don't waste time. I grab my satchel and dash out of the classroom.

* * *

The rest of the evening is fortunately quiet. I ignore Evelyn's unnecessarily cheerful laughter (even though I admit, to me and only me, that it's not hard to get used to it), and I also ignore her comments about my good mood when I don't bark at her after she makes the cards explode in my face, something I would have done any other day. Theodore mercifully keeps his mouth shut.

Ravenclaw's common room is packed, but kids aren't loud; most are seated on couches and sofas, quietly reading alone or conversing in small groups. The atmosphere of the Tower isn't much different to the one we have in the dungeons. It's a nice change to look at the sky out of the window instead of the dark green of the Black Lake.

Smiling to myself, I close the book I have in my lap,  _The truth of Magick_ , which cover I have charmed for obvious reasons, and observe Feodor, Evelyn, and Zaiden playing Exploding Snap, its most barbaric version. Feodor has the greatest amount of points, no surprise there.

"Hey," he says abruptly, looking up and missing his turn to tap the wand on the deck. I sigh loudly when the cards explode all over the coffee table and the floor, a few succeeding in getting under the couch.

Evelyn pumps her fist into the air, "Yay!"

"Still not enough to make you win," Feodor scoffs, rolling his eyes at his girlfriend before turning his face towards me. "What was the meeting about?"

Shrugging, I remove my reading glasses and rub my tired eyes. "Secret boring stuff."

"Secret, huh?"

"Can't tell the students yet, Dippet's orders," I don't elaborate and Feodor shrugs his wide shoulders too, not interested anymore.

Looking between him and the other two, I bite the inside of my cheek. Should I ask them? Should I look interested- should I be interested?

While shuffling the cards, Evelyn catches me staring and I fight my reflex to scowl. She grins. "Hermione told us to thank you for the chocolates."

I nod first and then, trying to sound casual, I ask, "Were they any good?"

"Judging by Feodor's reaction, yes, I would say they were very good," she replies, earning herself a cushion hurled in her face by a blushing Feodor.

"I ate just one!" he defends himself, imploring me with his not very innocent eyes.

"Two's more like it," Zaiden chuckles, earning himself a cushion of his own thrown at his head.

Standing to put the cushions back on the couch, Evelyn gives me an apologetic small smile. "She didn't feel like eating anything when we were there, but knowing her, I'm sure she's halfway through that box by now. She's a sucker for chocolate!"

_I know._

I nearly say it but refrain myself in time.

"Why don't you ask her?"

I blink at Evelyn, who's now sitting beside me on the couch, her legs folded beneath her.

"Can't go to the Infirmary, it's past visit hours," I remind her, arching an eyebrow.

"Not that that has ever stopped you before," she says and then continues before I can retort, "but I meant, send her a note and ask her. I think she would appreciate it."

I know she isn't suggesting to go to the Owlery to send Hermione a letter, but I'm not sure how I'm supposed to send her a note. With a big amount of humility and swallowing my pride, I tell her so.

"Use the Viator Charm," Evelyn says simply. I just look at her, incapable of sacrificing my pride a second time and let her know I have never heard of the Viator Charm before.

Evelyn, however, being as perceptive as ever, reads it all in my lack of response. I want to wipe that cruel smirk off of her face.

"The Viator Charm," she starts in that typical Ravenclaw voice to which I will  _never_  get used, "has been used since ancient times to communicate over great distances, especially during war times, when secret instructions needed to be exchanged. You just have to apply the spell on a piece of paper or a notebook or whatever object is designated as the traveller, or messenger, and the object itself will travel between two parties."

The way Evelyn tries not to gloat over something I clearly didn't know is unnerving. She hardly contains the excitement. Since I bet she's dying to do the I-know-something-Riddle-doesn't-know dance, I need to straighten up the situation.

"Is this why you giggle like a girl at your crotch during History of Magic?" I ask Feodor, smiling sweetly at him. "You read your girlfriend's notes under the desk? What does Evelyn darling write to make you blush so, I wonder...?"

Zaiden falls onto the floor, rolling in fits of laughter until tears spill from his eyes and his stomach hurts. Feodor spares me a dark glance and I grin maliciously back.

"Yes, yes." Evelyn rolls her eyes, but I notice the faint flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. "We exchange notes sometimes during class. It's useful."

"It's dirty," I joke, stretching back on the couch and crossing a leg over my other knee. "I would have never guessed you had it in you, miss Clearwater."

I dodge the cushion she throws in my direction with the reflexes of a pro Quidditch player.

* * *

Had I known that sending messages could be so easy, I would have used the Viator Charm sooner. Now I know how to contact my Knights without the danger of someone getting lost in the hushed spread of word for our meetings. I haven't called for one in a while now. I convince myself that I haven't because of Dumbledore breathing down my neck and waiting for an excuse to expel me. But deep down I know that's not the real reason.

Closing the curtains around my bed with a flick on my wand, I sit in the middle of the mattress cross-legged and look at the blank page placed in front of me on the duvet.

I have better things to do, more important things to think of. A task to carry out.

_Destroy it._

But I can't. Not alone. I need her to be with me when I destroy the Resurrection Stone, because she was with me when she opened my eyes to what the ring was in the first place. And in order for that to happen... things have to be right.

Will they be right? Will he hurt her?

_This makes me angry, yet you did nothing- It's your fault. But you can redeem yourself_

There's only one way to know if he will.

I glance at my pocket watch, the one Slughorn gave me for my birthday. It's ten pm. She might be awake. I know I am.

Biting my lip, I pick up the pen from my bedside table and transfer it to my left hand to tap my wand to the sheet.

" _Hermione Vehis_ ," I whisper, Hermione's face clear as day in the front of my mind.

I keep it short. Just a question.

**Did you eat the chocolates?**

I wait a few seconds, already regretting my decision to send her a note. Then, with a feeble flare of light, the note disappears. This means she's awake.

I wait five solid minutes and then lie down on my back and wait for another ten. She's going to ignore me. I can't blame her.

I kill the light of my wand and bring the pocket watch to my face again. Eleven minutes. Twelve. The stars pointing to the hour, minute and second shimmer in the dark, the glow almost swimming through the watery deep blue of the dial. Hundreds of small white stars dot the night sky of the watch, moving faintly, almost lazily around the firmament. There's a weak sound beneath the metal, a sound I've heard before-  _Tick Tock Tick Tock_

But it's not the sound of pointers that I hear in my ears, not really. Now that I listen closely, the sound is more like a steady beating.

Is this part of the charm Slughorn was talking about when he gave this pocket watch to me? I wonder how it works.

Yawning, I set the pocket watch back on my bedside table and go back to staring at the ceiling of my four-poster bed, at my fake sky. The same night sky of my pocket watch stares back at me, only bigger and unmoving. No faint motion of stars, no inky effect of the firmament. No clouds. No moon. Just a dull sky. I silently yawn again.

I'm all set to get under the covers and try to sleep when the page from my notebook falls on my face from thin air.

I immediately sit up and my head spins. I can't believe she wrote back; I also thought she might return the sheet without an answer.

**Yes, they are very good. Thank you.**

That's it? No questions, no exclamations, just an answer and her formal gratitude. I re-read her message, looking for something that perhaps I'm missing; but apparently I am not.

She has nice handwriting. It's not as elegant and sloping as mine, but it's good and just her. It's non-redundant, practical and female.

I want to read something else written in her handwriting. I'm so pathetic.

**You are welcome. I haven't tried them myself. Keep me one.**

I watch the sheet disappear. I don't have to wait an eternity for her answer this time. The corners of my lips lift on their own accord as my eyes slide over her words.

**Get yours, because I don't share.**

**You do realise that I bought them, right?**

**Yes.**

**Good. And?**

**And you gave them to me, so they are mine. I go Gollum if you touch my chocolate.**

Gollum?

**Gollum?**

**It means 'get your own chocolate and go to sleep'.**

**That doesn't make sense. What I write next does, though, but I regret my words as soon as they vanish.**

**I can't.**

She doesn't reply. I wait for thirty minutes. I wait and wait and again until my eyes drop shut and memories start streaming through my head.

I dreamt her. She was there, yesterday night. If I sleep and he shows up, will she be there too?

I dread that moment, that moment when she begs me to fight, when she succeeds in making me do something I'd never been able to do in the past... only to miserably fail once more.

I can't sleep, I won't.

_This makes me angry, yet you did nothing-_

He hesitated. And when I jolted awake, sweat dripping down my face and torso, my shirt glued to my skin, there was no voice hissing in my head like usual, telling me to go back to sleep so he could eat my heart again.

No, he remained silent and only the sound of rain and thunders could be heard in the night. Like now. The same sound I hear now, its echo dulled by the depths of the Black Lake.

I rub my chest, remembering how the pain had lingered deep inside me, right through my heart.

But he hesitated. I saw it. It was just a moment, barely a second, but a flicker of uncertainty flashed in his eyes when he looked at Granger. And back in the Hospital Wing-  _Blood for blood, they will see no mercy._

What has changed?

I want to ask him, I want to talk to her, but I'm sure she's sleeping.

I stay awake.

I keep my eyes open past midnight. Past one am. Past two. At three am I decide that I don't care.

I don't care if she's sleeping or that it's three in the morning or that she needs to sleep. I need to sleep too, so I don't care.

* * *

Hogwarts is drowned in darkness, a black cover interrupted only at irregular intervals by the Aurors watching over the passages and entrances. I want to shout at them for their useless vigil: it's too late to look out for danger now, now that damage has already been done. How stupid can they be?

But I keep silent, vigilant on my own at every turn, unable to shake off the feeling of someone lurking around in the corridor, whispering behind my back. I'm paranoid but not scared.

At one point, I think I hear voices coming from the end of the short staircase leading to the Hospital Wing, but when I swing around, poised on the last step, there's no one in sight. I'm definitely paranoid. I blame the lack of sleep for it.

Reached my destination, I silently open the double doors and slip inside.

It takes me a few seconds to notice that something is off, to notice that the deep rumbling from outside isn't the only noise violating the peace that should reign in here.

I immediately ward the doors and rush to Granger's bed, following her painful pants like North through the pitch blackness. Lighting up the oil lamp on her bedside table and almost knocking over a bottle of water in the process, I scan her face before pointing my wand at the small office of Madam Killick.

" _Exsurdo_."

Although Granger's sobs are getting louder and louder, the light in the matron's office doesn't turn on. Chocking back a sob, Granger turns her head one way and the other- and now that I'm here I don't know what to do.

Sweat bathes her face and neck and her mouth is open, guttural sounds escaping from her throat as she squeezes the damp blanket in her hands. My heart breaks when I make out two strangled words between her heavy breathing.

"No more-"

I close my eyes for a moment and inhale the humid air, willing my personal demon away while Hermione emits other pleas for mercy, sending shocks to my chest with each ragged breath, mine and hers. But there's no way to keep my rage at bay, not this time. My rage.

I will kill them. I know now I have to wake her up and appear as calm as possible for her sake, but one day, in the near future, I swear I will kill the culprit of... this.

He doesn't speak. I'm grateful for his silence.

Opening my eyes, I sit on the edge of the mattress beside her and firmly remove her hand from the balled blanket. She doesn't fight me, her chest keeps rising and falling with deep, uneven breathing when I hesitantly place my hand on her forehead. She's burning up. Her eyes are moving under her eyelids... The idea of sneaking in her mind evaporates before I can even consider it. I know I won't like what she's seeing.

"No-"

A tear glimmers in the corner of her eye and runs down the side of her face, disappearing in the blanket. Hermione thrashes about the bed in her delirious sleep. This has been going on for far too long.

"Gran- Hermione, wake up."

It's only when I hear my hoarse voice that I realise how worried I am. But she doesn't open her eyes.

"Wake up, Hermione," I say again, louder this time. I bring my hands to her shoulders and give a gentle but firm shrug-

It happens fast, but I react on instinct, retracting just in time as she starts awake, my hand already clasping her mouth to muffle her scream. Her wide eyes look past me, through me, and I keep my hand over her hot mouth, knowing that she isn't really looking at me, she doesn't know who I am, she thinks she's still there, she thinks I'm them. She keeps on emitting those choked sounds deep in her throat, as if she's still hurting now, sobs shaking her chest.

"Shh... shh."

She struggles for a moment, trying to free herself from the hand that's pinning her back down onto the mattress.

"Shh, it's alright, Hermione, it's me," I soothe her, rubbing my thumb on her shoulder, my other hand slowly sliding towards her chin. "You are here, you are back. You are at Hogwarts."

The sight of her tears is like a blade transfixing my abdomen.

"You are alright, you are alright."

I keep saying it over and over again even when her eyes clear from the nightmare, even when she nods and then frowns.

"You are alright."

"Y-Yes, thank you."

I sag back in relief at the sound of her voice, still tired but present.

"Tom..." she whispers, sitting up again with difficulty. "Are you- are you alright?"

Snorting, I drop my head in my hands.

"Tom-"

Letting out a bitter laugh, I rub my forehead. "Yes, I'm fine."

When has she managed to get through to me?

"Why are you here?"

Why am I here again?

Biting the inside of my cheek, I peer at her pale face and take my time to answer, eventually deciding to just be honest.

"I couldn't sleep."

Drawing out my wand, I point it to Hermione's brow, ignoring her flinch. Her face immediately regains colour and sweat vanishes from her body, her nightgown returning as dry as her wild hair.

"Better?" I ask.

A nod. "Thank you," she mumbles, turning her head away from me.

The silence that stretches from this point is awkward, and the fact that my eyes keep falling, on their own volition, on Hermione's chest doesn't help. The white garment she's wearing is modest but does nothing to not emphasize the few curves I can see, the heavy breasts rising and falling with each strained breath-

"What happened?" I ask, shifting my eyes away from her. She's still looking at the empty beds on the far end of the room when she answers with a shrug.

"I fell."

Please, not the lying game again. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, I think you are brilliant. But you confuse me," she counters, finally looking back at me, her eyes narrowed to accusing slits. "First you want nothing to do with me and then you act like you care? What is it to you, anyway? Something to taunt me with in the future? That's it? We are passing from silent treatment to the mocking? You must be really bored and desperate if you are willing to buy me chocolate and then come here in the middle of the night just to-"

"Look," I cut her off with a halting hand, "I know that I haven't been very friendly lately-"

"You can say that again," she agrees.

"I was angry, with you and the situation. You must understand, I couldn't see past myself-"

"Your reaction was excessive-"

"Yes, yes, I know, but I was overwhelmed, it was too much to take-"

"You were about to strangle me! Even if I had lied, being 'overwhelmed' isn't an excuse to try to hurt people!"

I snap my mouth shut at once. I can't retort to that.

"It's complicated," I say softly, trying to keep calm.

Scoffing, Hermione shakes her head, curls bouncing on her shoulders. "I'm intelligent enough to keep up with your explanation. So explain the 'complicated'."

"I can't." I can't.

"It's just... I had to cool down," I say instead, toying with the hem of the white sheets, my eyes fixed on a distant point on the window behind her shoulder.

"You were rude," she states, crossing her arms over her chest. "You outright ignored me every time I tried to talk to you. And you looked at me as if I was the filth on your shoe."

I feel heat creep in my cheeks and neck as she whispers her next words.

"Last time I checked, you didn't find me so repugnant- if memory serves me well, you even kissed me. So much for considering me worthless of your attention, huh."

"Sorry about that," I mutter, lowering my gaze to my knees.

"About what? Kissing me or being an arse?"

Hot air blowing against my neck and ears, I train my eyes back on the window. "Terrific weather outside."

Hermione gapes at me. "'Terrific, t-terrific weather out'- You are incorrigible!"

I think she's about to throw her pillow in my face or, worse, demand an answer, but the moment mercifully passes and Hermione asks again, "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to apologise," I say quietly. Bluish flashes light the room in brief bursts while I try to find the words. "For ignoring you for the past weeks. And for New Years'. I was-"

"-a self-absorbed arse," she offers, nodding her head.

"-blinded by the fact you lied to me," I finish with a glare.

"You could have apologised in the morning," she observes, arching a dark eyebrow. She doesn't deny her lie. "Tomorrow."

"As I said, I couldn't sleep," I say easily, readjusting myself farther on the bed. "So... what happened? Really happened?"

Pinching her lips together, Hermione searches my face.

"I think you already know," she sighs at last.

"Who?" I ask, my voice still quiet, even when deep down I'm seething.

She swallows, "I can't tell you."

"Someone outside of Hogwarts?"

She shakes her head, but her face is answer enough and the beginning of a memory pops up in my head.

"That man you fought in Hogsmeade," I voice slowly, realisation hitting me hard in the guts. "He didn't forget about you, did he?"

"Riddle..." she pleads me, but her lower lip quivers, the hair on her bare arms standing. The faint colour she has just regained in her cheeks fades away.

"God," I breathe, openly looking at her fearful face. "Tell me that man wasn't Gellert Grindelwald."

Silence.

"Hermione..." I try again, not liking the moisture gathering in her eyes. "Hermione..."

And everything falls in its right place. Aurors Confounded. Entrances cleared.

"It wasn't to get someone in," I whisper, the truth unfolding before my eyes with irritating slowness and ease. "It was to get you out. He got you out. He wanted to see you. That time in Dippet's office- you said to the Aurors you two hadn't talked, but-"

I lift my eyes to hers. She shakes her head, telling me not to continue, but I still go on.

"You had."

She doesn't say anything.

"Why?"

She looks away again, but this time I seize her chin in my hand and force her face back to me.

"Why?" I ask again, my voice louder.

"I don't want to talk about it now," she hisses, jerking her head free. "And I don't owe you an explanation, Riddle. You lost that right the moment you tried to hurt me."

I straighten my spine and move away slightly, wanting to put some distance between me and reality.

"I apologised," I say.

"You think an apology makes everything right?" Hermione asks incredulously. "I haven't forgiven you yet."

I slump my shoulders back in defeat. I hate that I can never have my way with her, but she's right.

"Tell me why you did what you did and I will forgive you," she offers, narrowing her eyes. I don't fail to notice her arm reaching into the chocolate canister on the nightstand.

"Tell me if you lied that night and maybe I will forgive you," I retort. Two can play this game.

"About the Hallows?" I notice her throat bobbing under my hard stare. Her face pales when I nod. "It's complicated."

"Nice try," I say, my lips curling slightly. "So, you did lie."

Her "yes" is less than a whisper.

We both keep silent for a couple of minutes, lost in our thoughts. She doesn't go Gollum on me, or whatever it was, when I pick a pistachio book from my box of chocolates.

"I didn't steal your book."

She says it so quietly I might have missed it.

"I know," I sigh. I knew, but I needed someone to blame.

"The Deathly Hallows exist."

Of course they do. "And you knew me so well you tried to steer me away from the idea of collecting them?"

I smile when Hermione snaps her head up.

"N-no," she stutters, blinking at me. "I mean, yes, I..."

"It's alright," I tell her, shaking my head, my small smile still in place. "I'm a Slytherin. We Slytherins lust after power. I know I do, more than anyone else. And you knew too."

Not meeting my gaze, she fiddles with the bed covers.

"I lied about Grindelwald," she reveals stiffly. I shoot her a withering look, but she can't see it. "He doesn't know about the ring, only the Stone. But I knew... about the ring."

She gives me a furtive glance from under her eyelashes. I clench my jaw while I work up a response.

"That's," I start and stop there. I keep my voice controlled and my fists wrapped around the sheets when I try again, "That's a major lie, Granger."

She bites her lower lip, hard. "I'm sorry."

"How did you know?"

"I can't tell you."

Fuck's sake, not this again. "Have you seen it before?"

"No... Erm, someone told me about it."

"Who?"

"I can't-"

"-tell you?" Wiping my face, I laugh bitterly and, my chest deflating, I lie back across the foot of her bed. I turn my face and look up at her. "It doesn't matter anymore. You are forgiven."

The worry etched into her beautiful face eases.

"I used the Stone," I admit. As expected, she reacts by gaping in horror. "No, I know what you are thinking. I didn't use it like that, I swear. I just- I just had to know what I was giving up."

"Giving up?" she repeats, lines forming on her forehead.

I nod and explain, "The person I saw agrees with you. They think this Stone is dangerous. Therefore I must destroy it."

"Will you?" Hermione asks, tilting her head to the side, a strand of curly hair falling onto her forehead and covering her eye.

"Should I?" I ask back, lifting my hand to tuck her stray curls behind her ear. I snort as they hang forward again but I'm grateful she hasn't flinched at my touch. I lower my arm back to my side.

"It's yours, the Stone. My opinion doesn't count."

"It does," I press. "What would you do?"

"I... I would destroy it."

"Will you forgive me if I destroy it?"

Hermione blinks before averting her eyes. She does that a lot and I'm not sure I appreciate it. I want her to look at me.

"Look at me," I say, sitting up to scoot closer to her, pulling the bed covers with me. I search for her hand, squeeze it gently, and she meets my stare again, her chocolate eyes seeking mine, drawing me in until my breath catches in my throat. "Will you forgive me?"

The skin of her arms breaks in goosebumps. Her voice is hoarse. "I can't keep up with your mood swings, Tom."

"I know, but I will be better, I promise. I never wanted to hurt you, that time was- I lost control, but it won't happen again."

Hermione shakes her head, smiling bitterly, "What if it will? What if you have another of your moments?"

I bring my face a breath away from hers, my voice hard and earnest, "You can hurt me back with everything you've got if it comes to that. But it won't. It won't happen again. I just want to be friends again."

She seems to ponder my requests, uncertainty wavering across her face. When she opens her mouth, I know what she's about to say, so I jerk out a word I rarely use.

"Please."

I don't voice what I can't tell her- Please, show me mercy. I will try to be better.

.

* * *

.

"Okay."

Hermione shook her head, making up her mind.

"Okay?" Tom asked, relieved and possibly a bit disbelieving. Little did Hermione know that he had been actually breaking inside.

"Yes," she repeated steadily. "I can forgive you, but I can't trust you. You have to earn that."

Tom looked taken aback. "But I just told you about the Stone, I told you I want to destroy it-"

"Yes," Hermione interrupted him, "but you haven't told me about the night in the Tower and why you did what you did. How can I trust you without knowing what's going on in your head?"

"You haven't told me things too," he bit back, his face and neck growing red under the dim light of the oil lamp.

"You said you didn't care anymore, that it didn't matter!"

"Right, but what about Grindelwald?"

Hermione winced.

"What about the fact he tortured you and you won't tell me why?"

"Tell me about the night in the Tower and I will tell you about Grindelwald."

Tom burst out laughing and dragged his fingers through his hair.

"Our little game again?" he asked, his voice as bitter as his laugh.

"See?" Hermione waved her hand between them. "How can I trust you when you won't tell me? I was involved in it and you apologised without an explanation."

"You are one to talk, Granger. Will you ever let that night go?"

"No."

"You don't want to know about it."

"Yes, I do. I want to trust you."

"Then trust me when I say you don't want to know!"

"I will trust you when you tell me what happened!"

" _Christ_ , Granger!" Tom half-shouted, standing on his feet at once. He looked down at her, a vein throbbing in his forehead, "Damn it, Granger, leave it! I'm fucking sorry for what I did, there hasn't been a day I haven't regretted it, but I won't tell you because you  _don't_  want to hear it. It won't happen again, I swear, I would die before I let something happen to you! So, please, just leave it!"

Hermione forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"Tell me what happened on Saturday."

It was an order. Hermione sucked in a lungful of air, preparing herself for her last inevitable heartbreak.

"I can't tell you," she murmured, trying to stress the word 'can't' but not fully managing to, not as a mask of contempt fell onto Tom's face.

"Fine," he gritted out. "I will never know then."

"It's not because-" Hermione tried to explain, but Tom had already swung away from her and stormed out of the Hospital Wing.

"I really can't tell you."

Her whisper was unheard and lost in the echo of the rain, unable to follow Tom behind doors that would remain closed for the rest of the night. Lost after the tear that slipped from her eye, followed by another and then a river as she realised how badly she had missed Tom. His voice, his presence.

Swearing that she was going to make things right the following day and praying that she would find mercy in him for what she would never be able to tell him, Hermione went back to her nightmares.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Finally another update!
> 
> Things between our hero and anti-hero are moving forward, at last! I had to wait patiently to make them reconcile... sort of. Tom is still difficult to deal with, the poor boy.
> 
> I usually have a lot to say in these author notes, but today, duh, there's not much to say. Hmm, let's see. I'm working on a new fan art illustration, for the first time with Tom and Hermione together. It's the first time I draw them in the same canvas, it's weird; but I'm also so excited to finish it! You can see a sketch on my tumblr (imnotgabrielle is my name - I know, very original (; )
> 
> Please, review! I'm entering in dangerous territory with this chapter because of many reasons, and if you are on board for it, I would love to know what you think, what you expect, what you suggest- about any character. Thank you and peace out!


	13. Chapter 12 - In Noctem

 

The wind was howling behind the cold glass, a dour sound flown through bare ancient trunks and swaying branches, speaking of vengeance across the winter night of the Highlands. Yet the noise was in some way comforting, dreadful, but promising to keep evil distant with unforgiving claws.

Hermione shivered. There was a presence edging towards her, accompanied by the cruel and protective echo of the wind. Her eyes remained closed, her mind trying to drift back to her dreams, even as she felt the bed dip by her back and hesitant fingers brush her arm.

"I'm terrible, aren't I?"

Slumber claiming her from one side and  _his_  voice dragging her to the surface from the other, Hermione squeezed her closed eyes until they hurt, her brain not inclined to collaborate at such a late hour, and to respond to a rhetorical question no less. What hour was it, again?

Feeling sleep lifting from her, Hermione internally sighed and cracked her eyes open. She blinked a few times at the darkness that engulfed the Hospital Wing, the shadows of whipped trees projected on the opposite wall. The wind seemed to penetrate the thick walls of the castle, lamenting in her ear. She shivered again, harder this time for her limbs noticeably trembled under the covers, prompting a hand to settle on her shoulder.

"I promise I will try to be better and look what I do. I walk away only minutes later."

 _You shouldn't make promises you can't keep_.

It sounded so cliché. No, she wouldn't tell him. In fact, she didn't say anything, more out of tiredness than fear or anxiety to speak up. And even if she had wanted to speak, his warmth wouldn't have permitted her to, spreading from that spot high on her shoulder to her whole body. She wasn't scared of the feeling, but it was unexpected.

Everything about him was unexpected. His presence here was unexpected.

"I should have stayed."

"You should have," she agreed. Her whisper was hoarse, her throat dry.

"I've been trying to apologise. You are avoiding me."

Hermione couldn't see him, he was sitting behind her while she was lying on her side, facing the double doors, but she could picture his expression, the mask that didn't betray the hurt he felt, his dark eyes piercing the back of her head, accusing and looking for answers.

It was true. She had been avoiding Tom Riddle for reasons beyond her control, reasons that Dumbledore didn't share.

" _Tell him,_ " he'd said.

Hermione couldn't tell him, though. It was dangerous. The threat she'd received only five minutes after Tom had walked away that night was dangerous.

"You haven't been around for two weeks, Granger," Tom said softly, his hand leaving her shoulder. Hermione almost moaned in pain at the loss of warmth. "Apart from lessons, even Evelyn barely sees you. She misses you."

Hermione missed her friends too. Nowadays she spent most of her time in class or with Harry and Theodore- Severus and Luna dropped by their headquarters occasionally, but their schedules were too busy to stay for more than two hours or so.

" _We can't tell you_ ," they would say when she asked where they went every day. She understood though: the less she knew, the better chances she had to hide information from the enemy- the enemy for whom she worked now.

Sighing, Hermione eyed the canister placed on her bedside table, the last one Riddle had gotten her; she could see its outline even in the dark, knowing very well where it was as she had placed it there right before going to sleep. The chocolates inside weren't book-shaped, but they were delicious nonetheless. She didn't deserve such kindness, but the knowledge that Tom Riddle would spoil her with sweets as an apology made her stomach clench... and then question everything she knew about the universe and its laws and oddities.

"Will you give me chocolates tomorrow?" Hermione asked out of nowhere, still not turning to look at him. Why was he here, in the middle of the night?

Riddle scoffed. "Again?"

"You are not very romantic."

"If to give chocolate means being romantic in your vocabulary, then I've been romantic for almost two weeks, Granger."

Without anything to respond to that, Hermione kept silent, her eyes strained upwards to watch the trees bend under the wind.

"Can you turn over?" Tom asked after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

Grunting, Hermione turned over to face him, messing the sheets wrapped around her. She felt the childish urge to bury her head under the covers when Tom's stern eyes met hers, the dim light of the oil lamp he had just lit freeing her corner of the Hospital Wing of the darkness.

Sensing her intentions, Tom leaned forward and untucked the bed cover from under her chin before she could even grab it.

"Don't be a child," he scolded her. "Why are you still sleeping here?"

"Nightmares," Hermione mumbled, looking anywhere but at him, therefore missing the shadow that darkened his face.

His hands clenched in tight fists.

"Why aren't you in your bed?" Hermione asked, making the tension momentarily leave his shoulders.

"Nightmares," he said wearily. He didn't offer another explanation for his being in the Hospital Wing and Hermione didn't ask anything else.

Tom sat on her bed in silence, looking over Hermione as her eyes gradually slid shut and her breathing evened.

.

* * *

.

I don't want to fall away. I can feel my conscience wearing thin, breaking and falling apart with each second spent away from her.

I wanted to ask her again about the morning of the torture, but one glance at her face had me halt.

I didn't like what I saw, the violet smudges under her tired eyes, her slightly hollowed cheeks, the ringlets of her hair falling weakly on her shoulders. She was so pale. I could tell her fever hadn't gone down yet.

She sleeps in the Hospital Wing because she has nightmares.

I don't like what I can still see at the front of my mind.

_Crucio_

The word rings in my ears over and over again. I regret my invasion of her mind. For the first time in my pathetic life, I regret that I took advantage of her feverish state to obtain an information she wasn't willing to give yet. I resent her too, for what she has involuntarily put in my mind, the sounds I will never get out of my head, the screams that from now on will haunt my own dreams and let her have the upper hand in any situation between us.

" _Will you give me chocolates tomorrow?"_

How can I possibly deny her? How can I turn away now that I know-

Is this why she didn't want to tell me? Because she wouldn't stand the pity that I'm feeling? Is this even pity? Is the anger devouring me from the inside related to sympathy, my thirst for blood joined with condolence?

_Crucio_

_God knows I don't want to hurt you, but I have to do it Mutual respect is essential_

Thirteen days. I let thirteen days pass before going to see her last night. Thirteen days of an agony that she tastes every night. The memory she's subjected to every day.

I had to retract from her mind before I could lose it in hers as her own prayers resurfaced from her memories and entered her night terrors.

_Please Death make it quick_

* * *

"You don't look good," Feodor greets me at the Slytherin table. I don't respond as he sits down across from me and leans forward to grab the carafe of pumpkin juice. "I won't have a great day either if it's any consolation to you."

It's not, but I don't speak, too occupied to glare at my breakfast.

Today is Monday. Stupid Monday.

"Stupid Valentine's Day," Feodor mutters, rubbing his temples in small circles.

Munching on my slice of buttered bread, I peer at him from under my eyelashes. His satchel is placed beside him on the bench, boxes of chocolates and heart-shaped sweets crammed in, three red lollipops about to fall over. Sitting down, Darius Flint saves the goodies by unwrapping them and stuffing all three in his mouth.

"Wha'?" he asks as Feodor furrows his eyebrows at him. "I'm helpin' you! Do you really wanna let Clearwater see all this stuff?"

Feodor grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Too late, Flint. Too late."

Indeed, Evelyn is glaring at Feodor's back, a cup of tea held in her shaking hands, threatening to spill over the hot liquid.

"I saw her receiving chocolates as well, earlier."

Abraxas sits down next to me and, like Flint, he immediately goes for the chocolates in my bag. He doesn't ask for permission, but I don't mind. I'm not touching these sweets anyway, knowing all too well that one can't just underestimate potion-making skills of resolute third-year girls, the same individuals who regularly lurk under mistletoe when I walk by during Christmas.

Poor Abraxas has yet to learn to not blindly trust chocolates, but I won't be the one to enlighten him. Experience is the greatest teacher after all. And again, I'm not in the mood to deal with his naivety this morning.

"Evelyn turned them down," Feodor grumbles. "As if I could do that when the chocolates just appear in my bag..."

The same goes for me. Love letters, flowers and sweets pop up in my bag almost every day, much to my annoyance, and today is no exception. I cringe at the amount I've got this year, a personal record- and it's still 7.30 am.

I do my best to keep my eyes trained on my breakfast in order to ignore the ardent glances girls throw my way. There are three females in particular who are staring at me with no shame from the Hufflepuff's table, giggling loudly, in all likelihood waiting for me to open the three letters that have just appeared beside my plate.

Containing a growl, I pick up the letters and shove them in my satchel, only to give the girls a reason to quit their goggling.

I know what many girls and several boys seek from me, I'm arrogant enough to know what I look like and appreciate it in a non-narcissistic way, unlike Malfoy or Potter, and I do know what rumours tell about me. It's actually scary hearing about my own reputation and the false whispers circulating around it.

An owl flies over our table and drops a pink letter right in my plate.

Can't people just understand that I'm not in the mood to celebrate a day dedicated to saints who have no actual connections to the connotation of love?

Fortunately, my salvation comes in the person of Caliadne Greengrass. I sigh in relief as she sits beside me and lays her hand on my arm. Pressing her breasts into my side, she leans in and slowly brings her mouth to my ear.

"I'm doing you a favour, Riddle," she whispers, shooting a fake smile to the Hufflepuff girls, who are now glaring at Greengrass. I don't miss the fact that half of the Great Hall turns away from the sight of me, a dejected look on their faces.

"What do you want, Calia?" I ask through gritted teeth, my lips barely moving for fear that the Hufflepuff girls can lip-read.

"Why, I merely want to help you fend off the peasants, Tom."

"You are a Slytherin, Greengrass," I counter warily. "You just don't help without demanding something in return."

Snorting, Calia pulls away and shakes her head at me, her dark perfect curls bouncing on her shoulders; she gives me a disapproving look, "You are no fun."

"If that's what you are looking for, I'm not sorry to tell you are wasting your time," I say, going back to my coffee.

Calia grimaces. "I will never understand how you can like that Muggle drink. It's bitter and gives you bad breath. But I'm not looking for fun, not with you anyway- I have a proposition for you."

"I don't have bad breath." I frown at her, withdrawing from her smirk and taking another sip of my coffee to make a point with no logic in it at all.

"No, you don't," Calia agrees, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because you have the good grace to Charm your breath after breakfast. Charlus isn't as smart as you, unfortunately."

Not waiting for a response, even if I do feel somehow reassured, she continues, "Listen, the females of this castle are worse than Giant Squids during mating season-" as if she's not one of them, "and the males are, well, acting like all males do-" as if I'm not one of them, "so, let's help each other. I scare off the Giant Squids and you scare off stupid boys who are after me."

Her idea of helping each other isn't bad, not in the least. But something's missing.

"How would I scare off the boys after you?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

She shrugs, turning her head for a moment to give the Hufflepuff girls a saccharine smile. Their collective glare intensifies.

"You just have to scowl at them, nothing too hard for you this morning, right? Direct your glare at the Gryffindor's table, if you don't mind, where the concentration of manliness is at its highest peak."

"This isn't one of your schemes to get me in your bed, is it?" I ask suspiciously, staring down at Calia, the same girl who tried her best to get into my pants until that fateful Saturday of two weeks ago.

Calia bursts out laughing, attracting many curious glances her way. "No, I'm not a Muggle, Tom! And you broke my heart denying me the Golden Snitch, remember?"

"I didn't-"

"Yes, yes, you didn't promise me anything," she finishes. Her voice softens, "Look, I just need you to scare off Charlus. I don't want to go the Equinox thing with him and, coincidentally, he's afraid of you."

"I don't know-" I start, my eyes darting briefly to the other end of the Great Hall.

Calia follows my gaze. My hands tighten on my cup of coffee when I spot Granger.

She's sitting on the other side of the room, with the Gryffindors, her back to me, but I know it's her without a doubt. I could recognise that big hair everywhere.

"I can see why you like her," Calia comments, studying the Ravenclaw girl who plagues both my dreams and nightmares. "I hear she's very intelligent. And as much as it pains me to admit it, she's also very pretty- 'hot', according to Alphard. Her hair, on the other hand..."

"You are prettier, Greengrass," I say, not looking away from the Gryffindor's table, and specifically from Alphard Black, who is entertaining the girls with what I presume are dirty jokes. Granger joins in the general laughter, her shoulders quivering slightly every now and then.

"And here I thought you were a good liar." Calia rolls her eyes.

Feodor, who's been pretending to read, smirks behind his book. I ignore them.

"She's growing popular among the boys," Calia goes on, piercing me with her intense gaze until I manage to rip my eyes off of Granger. "Have you given her chocolates yet?"

"I don't give girls chocolates," I state stiffly. Feodor coughs and I ignore him again.

"Even professor Noel gives out chocolates to girls," Calia points out.

Indeed, the Ancient Runes teacher is handing out small boxes of chocolates to the ladies sitting at the Gryffindor table.

I clench my jaw as Granger tilts her head upwards to look at professor Noel, gracing him with a small smile and giving me a pitiful view of her face. I don't care that the idiot is slipping a rose in her hand under the table, hidden from everyone but me, or that he leans to whisper something in her ear. What I care about are the colour of her face and her sleep-deprived eyes.

"Granger looks sick," Abraxas observes.

I turn to give him a questioning look and he shrugs, "I was sick for two weeks, I can tell."

He has been very quiet as of late, and more reserved. Abraxas Malfoy isn't the quiet type as he usually blabbers on and on about anything, from the wealth of his family to the purity of his blood. I haven't heard a single disrespectful comment about Hufflepuffs or Mudbloods in days.

"She hasn't been eating regularly either," the blond continues, studying Granger through squinted eyes.

Both Feodor and I look up from our breakfast. Caliadne arches an eyebrow.

"And how would you know?" Feodor asks, scrunching his face in confusion.

"I visited her when she was in the Infirmary," is Abraxas' simple answer. Feodor blinks twice at his indifference, propelling our roommate to elaborate, "Well, she healed me when I was, you know- The least I could do was visit her."

Has that accident in the Potion's lab really changed him for good?

"Not that the Mudblood needed company seeing that there were always these two men with her."

I inwardly roll my eyes at the derogatory term. Nothing can change the views of inbred pure-bloods-

"Wait," I say, stopping Malfoy just as he makes to climb off the bench and leave. "Two men were with Her-Granger?"

"Yes," he confirms with a nod. He tilts his head upwards, thinking. "I have never seen them here, they didn't look like students."

"But what did they look like?" I press. Relatives, maybe? Friends?

"One of the two looked like a pure-blood, the other positively Muggle."

I want to bury my face in my palm and slap Abraxas on the back of his aristocratic head. I also want to ask more, but the boy leaves before I can open my mouth.

"Thank Salazar not all pure-bloods are like him," I mutter in my tepid coffee, making Feodor's lips curl in his first genuine smile of the day.

* * *

The day proceeds without other problematic events. I keep my mind busy with the content of today's subjects, even if I already know most of it, having always kept my reading several lessons ahead of the teachers.

In the afternoon, the first class that succeeds in dragging me out of my boredom is Dumbledore's.

"Hello everyone!" the teacher beams, stepping in the classroom with a flourish of night-blue robes.

The Gryffindors and a few Slytherins greet him back; I'm one of those who don't. Feodor, who is sitting beside me, snorts as the man Conjures different beautiful flowers, making them appear in small bouquets on each desk and inducing a cooing reaction from the female population.

"Figures", I mutter, rolling my eyes when Parkinson and Greengrass join the piteous swooning over the flowers  _and_  Dumbledore. "What's with girls and old teachers?"

"What?" Feodor asks, sparing me a glance while skimming through the pages of his manual.

I shake my head, concentrating on the present. "Nothing."

I keep my eyes fixed on Dumbledore as he paces the room, explaining the nature of Conjuration, pausing to demonstrate the theories by creating various objects from thin air and leaving them to float around the room.

Albus Dumbledore is the kind of teacher who wants to distance his teaching method from the others', therefore he tends to get creative with each lesson. Being today no exception, the Conjured objects are not only what the average student would consider 'funny', but also original and of excellent quality. I can't deny the skill it takes to form things from nothing, like a heart-shaped carillon that sings Sinatra every time its golden lid is lifted.

"I want you to practise for Wednesday," Dumbledore orders when the bell rings, Conjuring one last object with an elegant flick of his wrist – an ice fountain shaped like a small cherub, an arrow ready to be shoot between his chubby hands. "Conjure anything- and remember that if you don't know a spell for what you specifically have in mind, it doesn't matter. Just concentrate and make it happen. But don't expect grand results for your first tries."

 _Comforting_ , I think. Picking up my satchel and slinging the strap over my head, I stop at the rear of the crowd of students that's failing to walk out of the damn door.

"Mr Riddle!"

Please,  _don't_.

"Please, a word, if you don't mind."

I do mind, but, short of any plausible excuse, I just nod at Feodor to proceed without me.

Dragging in a tired breath, I turn around and do my best not to arch an eyebrow at Dumbledore, who is now leaning against his desk and smiling kindly.

"So, Tom," he starts, his voice light and seemingly free of accusations for once. "How are the preparations for the Equinox coming?"

Oh, so this what he wants to talk about. For a moment I suspected he wanted to have one of his nauseating speeches about Good and conversion to Love.

"We finished in our last meeting," I reply honestly. I actually haven't minded working on the event, the planning and going on errands to buy the necessary material has helped to take my head out of other dark things. "We just need three or four hours to set it up for the evening."

"Hmm, good, good." Dumbledore turns his head to the side, his eyes narrowed and lost in a thought. When he looks back at me, his face is grave. "How many hours do you think we should concede for this event?"

"I don't know, sir. I thought we had already decided it would end at midnight for minors and 2 am for the rest of the students."

The man nods, his light-blue eyes sliding past me again. "Yes, yes, it should be enough," he mutters to himself.

"Sir?"

I frown when he shakes his head and a smile reappears on his lips. "Thank you for the hard work, Tom. I'm sure professor Dippet appreciates your dedication as well."

I give a non-committal nod. I force out a tight smile when Dumbledore suddenly narrows his eyes, scanning my face.

"You don't look good, Tom," he says in genuine worry. This is the second time I'm reminded of my looks today. "Are you sleeping?"

Containing a humourless laugh, I jerk my head in a nod. "Yes, I'm fine. Is it all?"

Dumbledore deflates his chest in a forlorn sigh before assenting, "Yes, it's all. You can go."

I make to move, but the old man stops me again with his usual delayed, "Oh, and, Tom."

Looking at him over my shoulder, a hand grasping the handle, I wait for him to say what he has to say.

"If you are planning another night walk, I suggest flowers."

Grinding my teeth, I walk out of the classroom without giving the old coot the satisfaction of seeing irritation wash over my face.

* * *

I walk to the library, expecting Feodor to be sitting in our usual spot closest to the restricted section, but the desk is empty, lit by the last rays of the sun.

No wind lifts the air, no rain, the sky void of clouds, a perfect weather to go out and enjoy a walk. I don't though, aware that nothing can lift my mood today.

A note falls into my lap just as I sit down:

**Making up with E -F**

Rolling my eyes, I Vanish the piece of paper and gather my books to start with homework. I finish in less than twenty minutes- two essays and a practical exercise of Charms that I can do in my sleep by now. By the end of the hour, I entertain the idea of Conjuring objects, like Dumbledore suggested, but I quickly drop it when I recall how easy it already is for me.

I glance down at my ring, the fake dark green stone I Conjured days ago.

I twist the band around my finger, contemplating it. It's really ugly, rough and scratched, and with no real Stone in it, the antique, or better, relic, just loses its value. Wearing it is useless but I make no move to slip it off: deep down I know this is the only link I have to my wizarding family- a fucked family, but once upon a time blood of my blood.

Dead. They are all dead.

Will I see them again in death? Do I want to?

A fable made me hesitate and the truth behind it halts and asks me to  _think think think_. The idea of corrupting my soul and feed the monster within sickens me more than ever; even the concepts of immortality and power don't make my stomach twist in anticipation for I now remember the pain in my chest, the glass piercing my flesh-

_Feed me._

I recall his voice but he doesn't speak. He leaves me alone as I stare at the beautiful stone glowing on my middle finger, emerald like the Basilisk's skin.

I never feared the prospect of pain. I've always known that obtaining what I want would be painful, but the feeling is turning unbearable.

Am I becoming weak? My mother was weak, she died. Hermione is weak, she was tortured. Evelyn is making Feodor weak by taking away all his ambitions- right?

This... it is making me weak. I'm forgetting who I am.

" _A weakness, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, shaking his head and frowning sadly from behind his desk, leaving the sight of the snowing sky out of the window. He shook his head, trying to make me understand a truth I couldn't even make a sense of with his frantic gesture. "Tom, love is the most wonderful and terrible force in the whole universe! It's an invincible power!"_

_I couldn't suppress a sarcastic snort, "Really, professor? I think love isn't magic, it's a feeling and it only destroys. Wars were fought in the name of love, and what did it lead to? Death."_

_The Transfiguration teacher shook his head again, his eyes filled with sorrow. He spoke softly, "No, Tom, whereas_ hate _is the reason of wars, love gives hope and doesn't only make us survive, but_ live _."_

" _I don't see it this way, sir," I objected. "Love weakens the lovers and makes them lose their path in life. Look at the Bloody Baron, he suffers even in death- You say love is powerful and helps us live, yet powerful wizards are measured by skills and aspiration, not their capability of love. What's the point in living if not seeking ways to defeat-"_

_I stopped abruptly, realising I had said too much, but Dumbledore finished with an arched eyebrow, "Death? You want to defeat Death?"_

" _No, sir."_

" _Death isn't the enemy, Tom. It's nothing but a journey to the Beyond-"_

" _I'm sorry, sir, but I would rather live without love than die of it."_

 _Dumbledore kept silent for a minute, regarding me with so much sadness that it angered me. I didn't want to be pitied, not when I knew, I_ knew _that I was right and everyone else wrong and foolish._

" _I can only hope that one day you will change your mind, Tom."_

I've been staring at the same word on my Ancient Runes' textbook for a while now. The sky outside is already dark and one glance at my pocket watch tells me it's time to head to the Great Hall for dinner.

Love. Love makes fools of people. Love steals souls and time- it is powerful. Just in a different way.

" _You were born from love, not hate."_

I spend another hour in the library, not hungry enough to leave the comfort of my chair and the hard surface pressed under my cheek.

I'd always been so glad to be the way I am, intelligent, mature, cold, blind to potential distractions, but now all my certainties have collapsed. And I want to understand so bad, so why is it so difficult? Why can't I just comprehend as easily as it was explained it to me?

"I don't know what's going on."

I think the words, but the voice that meets my ears isn't mine.

I blink.

"They're hiding something, I can tell."

Unsticking my cheek off the table, I straighten up in my chair and look around only to realise that the voice comes from behind a bookcase.

"Did you ask Theo?" a female speaks up and the other, a male, grunts in response.

"Yes," he says, his voice deep and cold and somehow familiar. "He said not to worry. But I know he's hiding something serious."

I should be curious, but I decide that I have enough problems on my own to start poking my nose in others' business. This is how tired and confused I am.

Making sure to scrape the chair against the floor, I pick up all my things and stuff them in my satchel in record time. When I step out of my corner, I see two figures at the end of a row of bookshelves, standing stiffly on opposite sides. I glance quickly in their direction and immediately recognise them as the people I saw at that first meeting of prefects and teachers to organise the night of the Equinox.

I also remember the man as the one I saw talking with Dumbledore days ago. He's leaning against a shelf, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring intently- at me.

I steadily keep on walking without looking back, thinking nothing of it. We are all entitled to be in a bad mood.

.

* * *

.

**Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.**

An instruction.

On the back of the note, a threat:  **Come alone.**

A symbol in place of an 'a'- the reason for their next encounter.

Now, the origin of Valentine's day was matter of discussion even to Hermione's days. The possible roots of the celebration were various, the most supported went back to ancient Pagan festivities, but Hermione knew that it was less than likely that Valentine's day was really connected to the Roman festival of Lupercalia, a period of the year observed in honour of the Gods and fertility.

In any case, tradition wanted that Valentine's day was to be celebrated by lovers, not enemies. Yet here Hermione was, re-reading the note that Gellert had sent her two weeks before, the reason for her distance from Tom Riddle, ironically, a former enemy.

No one knew about this last note except Theodore and Dumbledore.

_Come alone._

"He must have ways to know if I won't be alone," Hermione had told Theodore days before, when she had finally decided to reveal him this last message in the privacy of their headquarters – luckily, Harry had been in the shower and out of earshot.

No one had expected Grindelwald to contact her for a personal meeting as they all had hoped he would let his two spies meet first. That would have been the most foreseeable move, as Theodore had told her. The young man had appeared troubled by Grindelwald's unpredictability but had agreed with her not to tell the others.

Now Hermione was pacing restlessly the shore of the Black Lake, the damned note clutched in her sweating hands. Sitting on a bench, Theodore was hunched forwards, his tired eyes following Hermione and the display of anxiety he used to impute to approaching exams. But he knew that this was worse than tests and homework, much worse.

"He knows, Theo," Hermione cried for the umpteenth time, clawing her fingers through her hair, real tears glistening at the corner of her eyes. "He knows I lied about the Hallows. He'll kill me."

"He doesn't know, Granger," Theodore tried to reassure her, but the girl snapped her eyes towards him, holding out Grindelwald's note.

"See this?" she half-screamed, tapping her finger on a scribbled word- 'alone'. "This bloody symbol? He's telling me why he wants to see me tonight! He knows I know where they are!"

"Lower your voice, Granger! Damn it!"

Theodore sprang to his feet to join her pacing, but in the opposite direction.

"I'm scared!" Hermione whimpered, finding herself at seconds from tearing her hair. "I should- I should tell Harry-"

"NO!" Theodore thundered, stalking towards her to take hold of her shoulders. "No, you can't tell Potter. He's not in his right mind to deal with this. He will just follow you and try to murder the bastard, sabotaging any chance we have to put an end to this."

"He would make us a favour-"

"No, I told you, he's not in his right mind to face him. Trust me."

Hermione searched Theodore's eyes, silently asking him for that information he was withholding from her.

"He hasn't been himself lately," he confessed, easing Hermione out of his biting grip on her shoulders. "He keeps it cool when you're around, when he's not crying at your feet that is, but then... I saw him lose it many times, Hermione. He still feels guilty about something, he thinks it's his fault. I don't know what, just that he's angry."

Unconsciously stroking his sore right cheek, where one of Harry's punches had landed the night before, Theodore sat back on the bench and Hermione followed him.

"I'll come with you tonight, Granger," the Slytherin said, staring ahead as the last rays of a weak sun drowned in the dark waters of the lake. "I'll use Potter's cloak."

"Severus-" Hermione started, but Theodore shook his head, giving her a warning glance.

"He won't let you go and we both know it. And even if he follows us, the cloak won't cover him as well. A Disillusionment Charm won't hide him if Grindelwald decides to check that you are really alone."

Theodore was right, like usual.

"Dumbledore knows about Riddle's night visits, by the way," he said after a while. The sun was disappearing behind the chains of mountains, leaving behind a violet sky and the hint of stars.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in outrage, pinching Theo's arm for good measure. "You told him! Why!?"

"Christ, calm down, Granger," the boy hissed, rubbing his arm and asking himself why people seemed to enjoy hurting him. If they continued like this, he was going to have bruises all over his body by the end of the week- granted that Grindelwald wouldn't kill him in the next six hours. "I've seen the little devil sneak in the Hospital Wing twice and Dumbledore saw it in my mind as well."

Sighing, Hermione closed her eyes, "Can you keep him out yet?"

Theodore shook his head, a dejected look on his face. "No. By the time I think I put walls, he's already out of my head. Maybe I will never be able to do it..."

Giving him a small smile, she patted his arm and revealed, "You know, Harry was crap at Occlumency too. Severus tried to teach him, but no matter how hard Harry tried, he just couldn't close his mind. I used to scold him for not trying enough, though now I kind of regret shouting at him- I realised how hard it really is. Dumbledore has spent months teaching me."

The last slice of light left the horizon and the two friends shared a moment of silence.

"Grief," Hermione said after a while, glancing back at Theodore to see him knit his eyebrows in confusion. "Grief, it was Harry's answer to keep Voldemort out of his head, even if Dumbledore would say it was love. When Harry feels grief, nothing can enter his mind, because... I don't know, he just- feels indifferent to what happens around him. Don't- Don't tell him I told you, I don't think he would appreciate it."

Theodore nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"But, you see, even he found something that works. You are a powerful wizard, I'm sure that if you give it time, you will find your answer."

"What's yours?" Theodore asked, curious, and Hermione shrugged.

"I don't really know... I think that perhaps it's determination, I'm not sure. When Grindelwald entered my mind, I knew I wanted to show him certain memories and keep others hidden and it just... happened. I was just certain of it."

"You make it seem easy," Theodore chuckled, though his eyes carried a shadow of sadness at the mention of her last encounter with Grindelwald.

Hermione returned the smile before sobering, the imminent task hitting her in the stomach.

"Theo," she whispered. "Grindelwald is a Legilimens. If he finds out about you- I don't want to drag you into this."

His gaze on a twinkling star, Theodore squeezed Hermione's hand. "I'm with you."

* * *

The evening was quiet, the silence interrupted only by the occasional sounds of nature and call of night birds. The air was patiently waiting for a risky departure.

Theodore was staring out of the window in a daze, taking in the landscape around the castle for possibly the last time, his hand torturing the chain of his pocket watch. His father had given him this treasure for his seventeenth birthday, as it was tradition among wizards: it was the only object he had to remember his family and the life he had left behind.

_"This was given to me by a person very dear to me," the eldest Nott had said, placing the heavy watch in the hand of his son. "Keep it on you. Keep it safe."_

Immersed in thoughts, Theodore didn't hear the door opening and closing behind him.

"Hey," a voice called him, making almost jump out of his skin. He swung around and cursed under his breath as Harry came into view, arms crossed over his chest. "Why is my cloak on your bed?"

"Oh, that," Theodore mumbled, eyeing the old cloak he had pulled out from Hermione's beaded bag and forgot to hide in his own pocket. "Erm, I was wondering if you could lend it to me."

"What for?" Harry asked, sitting on his bed, a towel covering his wet hair. Drops of water hung on the tip of his dark locks and fell onto his bare chest, running towards the white towel wrapped around his waist.

Theodore should have taken a shower too, granting his nerves a moment of peace and quiet, but his very nerves wouldn't let him take a break from his session of mental revision of Hermione's plan- his plan.

"I want to visit Granger, she would like to have company. Erm, she's not sleeping well." It was the first excuse he came up with, but the worst thing to say, and Theodore realised it too late.

Harry's expression hardened in a matter of seconds. "I can go keep her company. I'm her best friend."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Potter," Theodore said softly, praying this conversation wasn't going to end in a fight just like it had the day before. The struggle had started from a stupid comment about how Harry had looked miserable and should have taken a dose of that special root's powder Luna always kept in her bag. The Golden Boy had started shouting nonsense from there, declaring faults no one understood and barking at Theodore for acting like they were on a vacation, but, having tried to remain calm the entire time, the other just snapped at that, the accusation of not caring about their predicament hitting him right into his conscience. In a blink of an eye, both boys had found themselves wrestling on the floor, fists and kicks flying until Harry, broken lip, black eye and all, stopped struggling, tired.

The two had ignored each other the whole day- until now.

Dropping the towel he was using to pat his head dry, Harry stood up and straightened his back, glaring at the other boy, who was now bracing himself for the inevitable.

"Why?" Harry asked, a vein starting to visibly pulse against his temple- a bad sign.

"Potter, look," Theodore began, holding out his hands in surrender- a bad move. Harry narrowed his eyes, the prelude of a storm glinting in his pupils. "Hermione needs quiet tonight. She's still having nightmares, and you there- I hate telling you this, but you being there just makes it worse for her."

Pain crossed Harry's face. "She told you this?"

Theodore shook his head.

"No, but I can tell. You are not in a good mood, don't go and spoil hers." He knew he shouldn't have said it, he should have been more tactful, but the words just spilled from his mouth. He tried to correct himself, but the blow had already been taken.

"Oh, so you are just allowed to go and visit her at night as you please, right?" Harry hissed, flexing his fingers in quotation marks on the word 'visit'. His face was growing red and veins were bulging out of his neck. "Because you are the angel, aren't you, Nott?"

"Potter, you don't know what you are talk-"

"What is it you want with her, Nott?" Harry stepped forwards, his fists at his sides, knuckles going white with the effort of keeping them from connecting with the Slytherin's face. "All of a sudden you are so eager to spend time with Hermione? What are you hoping for? You are hoping to fuck her, isn't it-"

"That's not-"

"I'll kill you if you've fucked her, Nott, I'll kill you-"

"SHUT UP, POTTER-"

But Harry didn't shut up. Snarling, he lunged at Theodore's throat, latching a hand around his neck and thrusting his fist into his chest, spitting in his face.

"IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT, NOTT!" he bellowed, shoving Theodore against the wall. "You destroyed that book and now we are trapped here and Hermione is risking her life because of you! Because you are a selfish bastard, you have no right to be here, you have no right to speak with her, you! It's your fucking fault, at this hour we could have been at home, but you had to destroy everything-"

Aiming for his face, Harry drove his fist upwards, but Theodore, expecting it and adamant that he wouldn't be punched a second time, ducked it and staggered away from him. Harry swung back wildly, another fist ready to land, but Theodore didn't waste time and tackled him to the floor.

"I HATE YOU!" Harry bawled, over and over again as he struggled against Theodore, his hands reaching out to punch him wherever he could, his stomach, his shoulders, his chest.

"I hate you, it should have been you! He should have tortured you! You are so fucking calm because you don't know how it is, how fucked up it is, you fucked up! You are fucked up!"

Theodore growled, taking in the pain, taking in the anger, the insults, the accusations, the threats, the grief. He took it all in, trying to stop volatile hands from connecting with his sore body.

Constraining him with a knee in his stomach, Theodore finally snatched those wrists and managed to pin them at either side of Harry's head.

"I hate you- I hate you-" Harry was whimpering, rage shaking his limbs. "I hate- Hate- Him- I hate him. It should have been me, it's my fault- I-It's my fucking fault."

Not trusting him not to do something stupid, Theodore didn't let Harry go, leaving him to shake beneath him; he carefully removed the knee digging in Harry's stomach, though, where he knew another bruise would blossom.

Theodore stayed there, on his knees, panting and recalling the first time the two of them had fought, how they had ended up in a similar position, how Harry had yelled at him, trying to prevent a catastrophe- but time had started changing the moment Hermione had arrived here.

It wasn't Theodore's fault.

It wasn't Harry's fault either.

It was impossible to know who or what had brought this catastrophe upon them.

"It's not... your fault," Theodore jerked out, his breathing torn by the thudding of his heart. He averted his gaze when angry tears gathered in Harry's eyes and then tilted his head to look down. The towel Harry had wrapped around his hips wasn't wrapped anymore. One side had been pulled off in the struggle and was now caught by Theodore's knee, the other was entangled between the boy's thighs, covering the tip of a flaccid manhood.

Thinking nothing of it, Theodore carefully unpinned Harry's wrists, getting off him and then holding out his hand to help him stand. He turned around and picked up the Invisibility Cloak.

"I've never thought of Granger that way," Theo said softly, glancing briefly at the young man who was now sitting on his bed. "The idea of bedding her has never crossed my mind. We are friends."

Silence.

"Go to eat, Luna and Snape must be waiting. We can talk about this tomorrow if you want."

Harry nodded weakly, refusing to look up.

 _Or maybe not_ , Theodore thought, slithering out the door and closing it behind him with a soft click.  _Because if I survive tonight, you will surely kill me tomorrow for what I'm going to do._

_._

* * *

.

The night was quiet, the proverbial calm before the storm.

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

They were walking through the Forbidden Forest, the sky above still visible and guiding them towards the dark, reassuring that once reached the heart of the forest, the stars would remain there, watching over the world and their souls.

Hermione and Theodore had been walking in silence for uncountable minutes, instinct pulling them to that remote part of this dreary environment, a place where no wolf dared pass and plants whispered ancient and forgotten languages.

Theodore brushed Hermione's shoulder every now and then, letting her know he was there, walking beside her under Harry's cloak. The small gesture was appreciated but it still wasn't enough, not when every sound of the night was drowned by the drumming of her heart and her breath caught at every sharp turn between knotted giant roots sprouting from the ground.

Tilting her head to look at the sky, Hermione blindly searched for Theodore's hand and seized it, closing their distance to cover the skin escaping the charm of the cloak. Theodore gently squeezed her hand in response, wordlessly telling her he wasn't going to leave her alone, even when they would eventually have to let go- once they entered the danger zone.

Hermione hadn't entered the forest since the night she had left it, months ago. She couldn't say that it had changed in fifty years: the place still looked spooky and old and the humid air hitting her nostrils made her wish she could just turn and leave. Tall, bending trees stretched their branches in the attempt of reaching out and trap lost children- Hermione snapped her head one side and the other, but everything was still.

Children. Hermione and Theodore were children, walking in the obscurity to meet death by the hands of a man. Her grip on Theodore's hand tightened and a shaky breath left her lungs.

The boy gave her a caress on the back of her hand with his thumb, saying, 'It's alright to be scared. I'm still here.'

They were at the outskirts of the heart of the forest, where darkness thickened and the sky disappeared. From here there was no turning back, no light to save them except the dim Lumos of their wands. From here, they just could go down in the cold.

Hermione and Theodore hesitated, lingering on the edge for several seconds.

The stars where brighter tonight.

The truth was that any light appeared brighter against the dark.

They swallowed at the beautiful and comforting sight, knowing that only several minutes separated them from Gellert Grindelwald.

They resumed the walk at once, eyes leaving the night and staring ahead into the unknown.

" _Ferte in noctem animam meam,_

 _Illustre stelle viam meam-_ "

It was an old song that Hermione had heard various times at Hogwarts. She had always known the translation of the Latin words, but only now she grasped their deeper meaning, the feeling of parting and leaving behind what was most dear to them, walking forwards with a prayer held tight to the chest, names ringing in ears, reminding for whom they were leaving. For whom they sought the guidance of the stars.

Theodore squeezed her hand again, not to stop her but reassure her, so Hermione kept singing in a low murmur, her voice so quiet only he could hear. In his mind, he too called their names.  _Feodor Evelyn Lucya_

" _Dicite eis quos amabam_

 _Numquam obliviscar-_ "

Hermione's weak voice broke on the last note. She wasn't scared anymore and neither was Theodore.

Holding their heads high, the two friends steadied their pace and proceeded. They would meet Gellert Grindelwald, but no one was going to die tonight, not without putting up a fight- and Hermione and Theodore were that, fighters.

The rest of the journey passed like its beginning, their feet stepping on the wet soil noiselessly until they arrived at the designated place for the encounter.

Pressing his fingers against Hermione's one last time, Theodore let her go, his warmth leaving his place at her side, making her feel naked. She knew that he would stay not far from her, but his absence still made her shiver.

Shaking her head, Hermione urged her feet to step forwards and walk into a small clearing. Ahead, perched on a giant root, a figure was already waiting, his face wickedly lit by the dim light of his wand.

Making her presence known by clearing her throat, Hermione approached the man, the arms at her side not shaking for once.

"Hermione," Gellert greeted her, standing. He waited for her to get closer, offering a smile that enhanced his beauty and the twinkle in his mesmerising eyes; she thought he almost looked relieved. "I'm glad to see you."

"Thought I wouldn't understand your note?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow. She walked towards him, halting a few feet away, at a comfortable distance.

Gellert grinned, revealing a set of straight white teeth gleaming under the dim light that was now floating in a ball around them. "Of course not. I would never doubt your intelligence."

Hermione gave him a strained smile.

"Not the romantic rendezvous you planned, right?" he commented, turning his head to inspect the trees around them. "I'm actually surprised you know this part of the forest."

"I knew it by hearsay, but this is the first time I've been here," Hermione shrugged, her eyes darting between the man in front of her and the almost dead vegetation. But was it true?

Was this really the first time she'd been here? Then why did these trees look so familiar?

This sound-

 _Ba-bump Ba-bump-_ Was it really her heart?

"Hmm," Gellert hummed, looking back at her, his smile in place. "They say no creature dares pass here. Wolves fear it. And werewolves feel pain if they get too close. In the past-"

"-unspeakable things happened here," Hermione finished in a whisper.

The trees had seen it all. The pain. The death. From ancient times, they were the sole witnesses of unspeakable things.

 _It was here_. Hermione remembered.  _It happened here_.

Not too distant from her, hiding behind a tree, Theodore remembered too. He had been here only a few weeks before.

"Is there a reason you chose this place?" Hermione asked, her voice threatening to betray her alarm. Standing tall on her feet, she kept her eyes firmly on Grindelwald's face, studying him intently, waiting for any sign that indicated imminent danger- even when his whole presence suggested to get away as fast as possible.

The man chuckled, tucking his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. "Don't worry, Hermione, I didn't bring you here to kill you. I just needed a safe place away from undesired ears."

Hermione didn't know how this place could be deemed safe, but she didn't comment.

"You don't look too eager to be in my company, Hermione," Gellert noted, furrowing his eyebrows in bewilderment, the expression adorable under his blond hair. Hermione, fortunately, knew better than letting down her guard to be foolishly deceived by his pretty face. "Was someone else looking forward to spending tonight with you?"

"No," the girl replied at once, but her mind said differently. She clenched her jaw, banishing  _him_  from her head.

Clicking his tongue, Gellert leaned back against a giant root. His face turned serious. "I want you to meet someone."

Hermione froze.

It couldn't be. Not tonight. They weren't supposed to meet tonight- the plan... The plan.

 _No, it's good. It's better this way,_  Hermione dug her nails into the palm of her hands.  _I need to see his face._

Footfalls neared her from behind, but she decided not to move, she waited for them to walk past her, to step under the light so she could look them in the face-

But when the figure came into view and turned around, most of his face was covered by a mask of black air. It was a man, tall and lean. He wore black clothes, a stark contrast to his light hair... but that was it. Under the mask, anyone could have been Grindelwald's spy; there was nothing remarkable about this person, no detail that could hint- his voice.

"So this is your little bird," Hermione said smoothly, arching an eyebrow and making a show of looking up and down the stranger. "The dear spy who succeeded in getting me out of the castle."

 _And let you torture me into incapacitation_ , she mentally added.

Grindelwald grinned and Conjured a rose from thin air.

"Yes, Hermione," he said softly, twirling the rose between his fingers. "Please, meet my spy, Gavril."

 _Gavril_. The name rang a ball.

Hermione nodded, her brain working to place a face above the name. Shifting her weight on her other leg, Hermione inquired casually, "And does this spy speak?"

Plucking a petal from the rose, the Dark Lord glanced at his spy and inclined his head in invitation. "Come on, Gavril. Introduce yourself to our Hermione," he said. Closing his eyes, he smiled and whispered, "This is so romantic."

The stranger didn't speak, his lips sealed in a tight line, their corners curled downwards in... was that anger?

"She's waiting, Gavril," Grindelwald reminded him.

At last, the spy cleared his throat and Hermione's heart hammered mercilessly against her ribcage. "I'm Gavril."

Hermione wanted to cry and run to him and strangle him. She hated him.

And Grindelwald, who was inhaling the scent of the rose in his hand- he knew. He had always known.

"Well, the Valentine's day of my two favourite people in the world isn't ruined now, is it?" he asked with a pleasant smile. "When we are done here, you two younglings can go and have fun."

Both spies remained silent.

"Unless... unless Hermione wants to celebrate with someone else? Me, perchance?"

Hermione looked down at her feet, willing the tears not to fall.

"Hermione, you are very quiet tonight," Grindelwald told her, a tinge of worry in his voice. It was fake. Everything about him was fake. He stalked to her and grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards so he could look at her in the eye. "I was joking, my love, it wasn't my intention to scare you. I know you hate me. You must hate Gavril too. You are free to go when I'm done talking."

"Okay," she agreed quietly and the man let her go, stepping back.

"Do you already know why you are here?"

Hermione jerked her head in a nod.

"Gavril made an exceptional discovery a few nights ago." Hermione's throat constricted. "He believes, and so do I, that a Hallow is at Hogwarts, right under our nose."

 _No, they can't know_ -

"Gavril caught a boy wandering the corridors in the middle of the night. Boys and their urges... I can only imagine where he was going, ha! Anyway, the lad was Charmed invisible, but Gavril saw his feet."

 _No, please, don't say it. It's not the cloak, it's not Harry's_ -

"Like the good authority he is, Gavril tried to lift the Charm but, obviously, nothing happened. And understanding it was an Invisibility Cloak, he of course Summoned it... Can you guess what happened, Hermione?"

Hermione just stared at him, dread screaming through her every pore.

"It didn't move an inch. The cloak."

Hermione waited.

"What kind of cloak doesn't respond to a Summon? Gavril tried many times, not succeeding."

She waited.

"Do you know what that cloak may be?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Oh, I think you do."

"You want it," she stated.

"I need it," Grindelwald corrected her.

"And I should steal it? How can I possibly do that when I don't even know who the boy is? Hogwarts isn't exactly a hole-"

"Don't be too excited about it, Hermione," he interrupted her. "Gavril says he caught the boy in- what was it, Gryffindor Tower?"

Gavril nodded and Hermione glared at him, before realisation hit her, hard.

_Wait, Gryffindor- Oh, no. It wasn't Harry._

_Damn it- Charlus._

_Charlus, you stupid, stupid idiot._

The fact that Grindelwald knew about the existence of Charlus' cloak instead of Harry's did nothing to alleviate her fears- the task of obtaining it was still falling onto her shoulders.

"Why can't  _Gavril_  take it for you?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the bite of resentment out of her voice. "He knows what I know."

Grindelwald chuckled and nudged Gavril with his elbow, "Man, Hermione really hates you now, you should watch your back. I'm so glad to be in my own shoes."

Hiding her balled fists behind her thighs, Hermione tried again, "There are many students in Gryffindor. The owner of the cloak, if it was a cloak, might be a girl-"

"No, it was a boy," Gellert dismissed her attempt at chickening out. "You are a smart girl, I'm sure you will come up with something. Gavril will work with you."

"What if I fail?"

It was a dangerous question, one she shouldn't have asked. She couldn't push Grindelwald like this, she knew that behind the charming smile was a monster. A monster that knew how to apologise, but still worked hard to let the apology happen. She didn't want a repeat of their next meeting, but- Hermione was starting to suspect that the man standing in front of her was hiding a temper that she didn't want to taste.

From kindness to violence, from violence to forgiveness-

"Your friends."

Grindelwald said the words and Hermione tensed. From forgiveness to another round of violence, the step was short.

"If you don't have information by our next meeting-"

From kindness to threats.

"your friends might pay for it."

"B-but-" Hermione stuttered, panic coursing through her veins, blood rushing to her head. "But you promised! You promised you would leave them alone if I started working for you- You promised..."

She felt so stupid. She felt so stupid for having trusted him.

"I'm doing this for you, Hermione," Gellert said, nearing her once again. "I need you to understand the importance of this task."

He caressed her cheek, smiling sadly, "If you fail, someone will  _have_  to get hurt. You love Evelyn, right? You don't want to hurt her-"

_Snap_

Hermione's heart leapt to her throat and everyone stiffened. Gavril and Gellert looked around, scanning the forest around them.

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut on their own volition before she could check herself. She hurriedly reopened them, but it was too late, this small gesture had been caught and now Grindelwald was looking at her, understanding dawning on his beautiful face. She reinforced her mental wards, but he could read it all in her expression-

Trying to play it cool, Hermione forced a stoic expression onto her face. But suspicion was already dripping from Grindelwald's eyes.

"Is someone there?" he asked loudly, but only the silence answered. "Is someone there, Hermione?"

She shook her head, but whatever he could see in her eyes gave her away and she couldn't fucking control it.

"Oh, I think there is," he nodded gravely, taking a step back from her, his stare talking disappointment. "I don't like to be lied to, Hermione."

In spite of the panic, in spite of the high possibility of receiving another sample of pain, Hermione couldn't not think what a big hypocrite this man was.

"Come out!" Grindelwald called, his head turned to look at the trees, waiting for a shadow to move.

_Stay there._

Hermione tried to keep it calm, praying.  _Stay there._

Theodore stayed where he was, eyes closed, his heart constricted up in his throat, like Hermione's. His hands were sweating, his head pounding, his insides clenching.

"Hermione," Gellert said stoutly, "you seem anxious. Something to tell me? Forgot to read the back of my note?"

She was about to shake her head, but then thought better of it and said, "No."

She couldn't look vulnerable, she couldn't let her voice waver.

"No?" the man repeated, arching an eyebrow. He nodded to himself. "So, if I do this now, no one is going to rescue you, right?"

Paralysed with fear, sweat beading her forehead, Hermione knew what he was going to do.

The Dark Lord raised his wand, pointing right at her chest, " _Cru_ -"

"No!"

 _No_ , Hermione closed her eyes again.  _No no no_  She couldn't see it happen.

Breath caught, Theodore left his hiding spot with firm steps, rounding a tree and walking into the clear, under the dim light.

"Ah, there he is."

Gellert followed Theodore with his eyes and so did Gavril. Hermione just kept her stare on the ground, waiting for it to end- her friend now stood on her side, their shoulders brushing, hers shaking slightly, his unmovable.

Sighing, Grindelwald rubbed his temples. He spent a couple minutes pacing, thinking, stealing glances at Hermione and Theodore. When he finally halted, he looked directly at the boy and asked for his name.

And in that instant between truth and pain, that second between silence and a first vocalised syllable, Hermione remembered who Grindelwald was, what he was capable of and what Theodore wanted to say- an instant for her to let instinct kick in, collect powers which existence she had ignored until now and scream down a mental thread between her and Theodore a rushed command,

' _Don't lie_ '

Their eyes met in that exact second and Theodore's voice came out smoothly and strong.

"Theodore Nott."

If Grindelwald was surprised, it didn't show. He merely nodded and looked back at the girl.

"I'm not happy with you, Hermione," he told her, his voice cold. "You couldn't even follow a simple instruction, could you? I thought you would know better than disobey. It was such a simple request..."

He bit his lip, shaking his head. "What do I do with you? How should I punish you-"

Out of the corner her eye, Hermione saw Gavril stand rigidly behind his master, watching her, his lips parting hesitantly, but before he could say something or Grindelwald go on, Theodore spoke and her heart ached.

"I will take the punishment."

"No," Hermione countered, this time turning to look at her friend. Theodore frowned down at her, sadness flashing in his eyes, imploring her not to resist. She said it again, "No."

Grindelwald contemplated the both of them, taking his time to study Theodore and the way he took a step forwards to shadow Hermione, a resolute look about his face.

She was aware of the power that Grindelwald now had over Theodore, she sensed the few options ahead of them.

"You are mine, boy," the man said, tipping his chin at Theo, "or you can die. I can Obliviate you, but... where would Hermione's punishment be in that?"

The Slytherin didn't need to think about it, his response was obvious, his agreement immediate.

Gellert Grindelwald didn't need to think about what to do either, being always good on his word. He turned to his spy and nodded at him to draw out his wand.

Frantically shaking her head, covered by Theodore's shoulder from Grindelwald's eyes, she pleaded Gavril- to do what? Contravene an order? Go easy on them?

The spy's lifting arm shook faintly, but Grindelwald didn't seem to notice.

The next thing Hermione saw was Theodore collapsing to the ground, a chocked cry leaving his throat.

.

* * *

.

Everything was blurry. They were so tired they could barely stand.

They were still in the forest, lost in the damp night. Blood soaked through Theodore's clothes and sweat matted his hair. Hermione was shivering.

Once again it had happened. It was going to happen again. And again.

"We are almost there," Hermione said, tightening her arm around Theodore's waist. She had tried to alleviate his pain, but her own punishment had left her too weak to use her wand. "We are a-almost there."

But they were never there. She didn't know how much time had passed, but they had been walking and walking and Hermione was starting to feel the aftershocks of what had happened catch up with her.

Theodore had been hurt, repeatedly. Hermione as well, but when Grindelwald left, she had still been able to stand and think- not Theodore. Dragging his feet beside her, his arm around her shoulder and his head hanging, he was silent, keeping in the agony.

Tears stained Hermione's cheeks as she felt Theodore's body shake at intervals, his chest heaving with each breath pulled from his burning lungs.

They kept walking, but every part of the forest here looked the same, every thorny bush was foreign yet identical to the other. They were lost. They were alone.

"We s-should have marked the way," Hermione panted. Her head was spinning but she ignored it and kept pulling one foot in front of the other. "You know, like Hansel and Gretel."

Theodore didn't respond, but he was awake, listening to her, clinging to her voice for dear life, working hard to not slip away into unconsciousness.

"H-Hey," Hermione continued, "I know s-someone who would have reminded us. He l-likes  _Grimms' Fairy Tales_. He's s-so intelligent-"

Hermione swallowed bile and her vision fogged until her knees caved and Theodore fell to the ground with her.

"I'm so sorry," she choked out, feeling Theodore drop his head on her shoulder to catch his breath. He shook his head slightly, pressing his cheek into her shoulder and searching her hand on the cold earth.

They were lost, the irregular beat of their heart alone in the dark. She was so tired and Theodore...  _Oh God, Theo._

"I'm so sorry..."

There was a light coming. It drew near and nearer, charging towards them.

There were voices growing louder, one, two and a hundred, but Hermione and Theodore couldn't make them out, didn't understand from where they came, much less grasp what they said. Everything they could feel was the wet soil and the rough wood of roots beneath their knees, grazing their skin.

Energies swiftly leaving them into sagging limbs, Hermione and Theodore were leaning against each other, his head resting on her shoulder, the hold on her hand loosening.

Voices called them but the two didn't move, hearing but not listening, their brain unable to comprehend what was happening beyond the mess they were. They stayed there with their eyes open, a light and too many dashing in their direction.

And then Theodore's fingers abruptly let go of her hand and she felt him being removed from her side.

She could see a shadow in front of her, hear a voice calling, but instead of answering, all her remaining forces coaxed her eyes shut, just as someone caught her drooping head.

With a final broken breath, Hermione went limp in a pair of strong arms, smelling lilacs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter and in less than two weeks!  
> I'm very excited and nervous to share this chapter with you because from here things get darker and darker and I don't know if you readers will appreciate it. I'm being very paranoid, fearing that you might start finding this story too predictable. In fanfiction, especially when it comes to the Harry Potter universe, the danger is falling into repetitiveness. I'm trying to be original, but, please, do let me know if you think that things are starting to get boring!
> 
> In Noctem. How many of you love this work as much as I do? God, words can't describe how wonderful this music is.
> 
> Grindelwald's note is, in typical Grindelwald romantic fashion, a quote of Lord Byron. I love it when my favourite quotes fit perfectly certain situations in my story.
> 
> I thank everyone who is reading this story and leaving kudos/commenting! I spend a lot of time on thinking and writing and deleting and to know that there are readers who regularly read these chapters really heartens me! Thank you!


	14. Chapter 13 - Fire

 

The sky outside is growing darker, ready for the sun to begin its ascension. An interlude that carries a black curtain of velvet over the earth. It's that place between dreams and reality, where memories come back haunting, holding nothing physical against me but sheer power over my emotions.

Now these memories haunt me like a curse.

I see myself running through the forest, thorns and twigs scratching my skin, the light of my wand vacillating in front of me, showing me the way, the invisible path that my instincts can feel and want me to follow,  _need_  me to follow.

I bring the pocket watch I've been clutching in front of my eyes, waiting for it to disappear or disintegrate at any moment. That's how I wake up, remembering and looking at what has guided my way- to her.

I look up at the stars pointing the hour, moving lazily on the spot, nearly still.

But I know, I remember.

I remember the stars oscillating and then rushing to the rim of the dial, going mad, the  _tick-tock_  loud in my ears, insistent, gripping my insides, dragging me into the night, spurring me into evading the castle, out of the Hospital Wing, past the Aurors, past the Clock Courtyard, down the garden. Towards the forest.

I recall the pain being unbearable. I couldn't think, the feeling that had all of me in a vice-like grip made me break into a run and I wasn't looking where I was going-

There was a thread ahead of me, invisible. It felt as if my magic was answering a call.

I could sense the danger, so I kept looking at this watch, praying I would arrive in time- and the stars were always moving in a different direction, like a compass.

Closing my eyes again, I move the object to my ear, but the sound is soft, unhurried.

I was in time. I found her in time.

The first weak rays of the sun dawn on the castle, flashing slices of light onto the beds and the barren walls of the Hospital Wing.

Silently stretching my limbs, I readjust in my chair and look down at Hermione, who is sleeping quietly in her bed. I scan her face for probably the hundredth time, looking for any injury, any bruise that may incite me to take action and go hunt down Grindelwald on my own. But, once again, I find nothing.

Hermione isn't hurt, not as badly as her friend. And her friend too, he isn't hurt as badly as  _she_  had been weeks before.

Dumbledore spent only an hour at the man's bedside, wand moving over the stranger's brow until shocks stopped rippling through his body. The teacher left hours ago, telling me that now only a good rest could heal the man completely. He also left without scolding me for having been caught out of the castle way past curfew- and without telling me to go back to my dorm.

I've stayed. I've been sitting here the whole night, watching over Hermione and her friend just like I did the night before, fighting sleep, but sleep won at some point.

Sighing, I put my watch in the breast pocket of my blazer and slouch back in my chair. I gander at the man lying in the bed next to Hermione's: he's sleeping peacefully on his back, the colour of his face less pale than yesterday, the bruises all over his lean body now gone. Dumbledore forced him to stay awake as he tended his injuries.

"The first torture is always the worst," the teacher told me without looking up from his work. Only when a good hour had passed did he let the man fall into unconsciousness.

I study the man in question, wondering who he is, what's his relationship with Hermione- I recall his eyes wandering to her sleeping form, while he struggled to remain awake.

Yet there's something familiar about him that I can't point out, something in his eyes and the way they darted to me hours ago, asking something he couldn't voice.

Rubbing my temples, I lower my head and remember the events of last night, how I found the Hospital Wing empty and the minutes I spent waiting for Hermione to go back to bed, how I felt my heart thundering in my chest all of a sudden. I ran outside, pocket watch in my hand, only to stumble into Dumbledore; but the feeling persisted and I kept running, the older man following me without question. Now that I think about it, he must have known, he couldn't have been wandering at the edge of the Forbidden Forest by chance.

Removing my hand from my face, I lift my head and meet Hermione's stare.

I give her a weak smile and she blinks, frowning. She blinks rapidly a few more times, making me believe she's adjusting to the light of the morning, but when she tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowing further, I roll my eyes.

"Yes, I'm here, Granger," I whisper, careful not to wake the man sleeping not far from us. Scooting my chair closer to her bed, I slant forward and touch her forehead, feeling for a fever or any other sign of illness- her skin is cool. Smoothing my hand from her brow to her ridiculous hair, I ask, "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs, murmuring instead, "You are warm."

I make to pull my hand away, but she stops me, shaking her head slightly.

"No, you are so warm," she says, closing her eyes and leaning into my touch. "I like it."

I can't help but move my thumb over her hair and smile to myself at how she seeks my warmth, like a cat asking to be lulled into slumber. I'm surprised she isn't purring like one.

We stay in comfortable silence like this for several minutes, me stroking her hair, and when I think she may have drifted back to sleep, Hermione opens her eyes again.

"You got me flowers," she smiles, sitting up. Recalling this particular fact only now, I slide my eyes to the bedside table, where, indeed, a vase of lilacs is placed under the soft golden light of the sun. Madam Killick must have put the flowers I left here in a vase of glass; I will make sure to thank her later. "I love lilacs."

I nod, standing to walk to the bedside table, pretending to look at the flowers while I stretch my arm to retrieve the small box that I hid in the drawer. I quickly put it in my pocket without looking at it for fear that Hermione, ever the observant, will catch me red-handed. The present is hers but now is just not the right time.

Turning around with an indifferent air about my face, I find Hermione looking at her sleeping friend and I feel the nearly happy atmosphere fall, the both of us taken back to the harsh present. I silently watch her regarding the man with so much sadness and fondness in her eyes. And guilt.

"I'm selfish," she breathes, not leaving the sight of him. "I knew he shouldn't have come with me, but- but I was scared of going alone. I let this happen. Why am I always making such mistakes? This is not like me..."

Not knowing how to respond, I keep my mouth shut. This is the first information she's offered related to the events of last night, but I know now is not the time to demand the rest of the story.

"How is he?" Hermione asks, glancing away from him in favour of her hands.

"Dumbledore healed him," I reply, twisting my ring about my finger out of habit. "He said your friend needs to rest. I'm sure he'll be up and about by tomorrow-"

"How do you know?"

I frown in confusion. "Well,  _Dumbledore_  said it first, so I suppose it's true-"

"Not that," Hermione interrupts me. She nervously searches my face before clarifying hesitantly, "How do you know about Dumbledore healing Theo? Why were you here?"

I close my mouth and clench my jaw, realising that Hermione doesn't remember how she got safely to the Hospital Wing in the first place. I eventually sigh.

"We found you, Hermione," I tell her earnestly. "Dumbledore and I found you."

Her bottom lip quivers faintly. "How... did you find me?"

Giving her a small smile, I pull out my treasure, resolving to just show her, but a sudden gasp halts me. I swing my head towards the noise and see Hermione's friend struggling to sit up in his bed, all the while gaping at my hands.

"Theo!" Hermione cries, jumping out of her bed to rush to his. She throws her arms about the man's neck, kissing his cheeks, forehead, and neck in a manifestation of love that would make any Hufflepuff or Gryffindor proud.

I stand smoothly and walk to the foot of Theo's bed, waiting for Hermione to let her friend go; I bite the inside of my cheek when I make out what she's saying in his ear.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Theo shakes his head, rubbing a hand on Hermione's back. "Don't- Just don't, please."

Aware that I'm missing something and that I won't get it anytime soon, I idly turn over the pocket watch in my hands, wrapping the chain around my fingers.

"How do you feel? Are you hurting? Should I call Madam Killick? Dumbledore?"

Hermione keeps on pestering the man, ignoring his attempts at dismissing her concern, and I wonder if I should put a stop to her assault, but he succeeds in shutting her mouth for good by holding still her arms.

"Honestly, Hermione," he placates her, giving her a half smile, "I'm fine. Really, truly fine."

Biting down her lower lip, Hermione nods and hugs him tightly one last time. Theo hugs her back, his eyes fixed elsewhere again. Catching the direction of his gaze, I hold out my pocket watch for him to see, the light gleaming onto the silvery metal.

"It's... my pocket watch," I say, creasing my brow at my unexpected awkwardness and peeking at Hermione, her hands still wrapped around her friend, reluctant to let go.

"I know what it is," Theo nods, his arms dropping at his sides when the girl finally releases him. "It looks like a fine antique."

Hermione turns to look at the object and I let her take it for inspection.

"To answer your question of earlier," I start saying, pointing at the item, "that's how I found you."

Hermione snaps her head up, a confused look on her face, while Theo doesn't bat an eye at the statement, waiting for me to go on.

So I tell them, I recount everything that happened last night. I don't dwell on the sensation of the charm and I'm not asked to, though I can see Hermione restraining herself from bombarding me with questions about it.

A few minutes later, the double doors of the Infirmary are yanked open and a man bustles inside, panting and red in the face. His black hair is a mess.

"You big  _idiot_!" the newcomer shouts, crossing the room. Theo curses under his breath and mutters, "Oh no" just as the other hisses, "How could you!"

Pulling back the sheets, Theo moves to edge of the bed, eyeing him fearfully, "Look, Harry-"

"How could you not tell me!" the stranger, Harry, hisses again, throwing his hands in the air, stalking towards us and then past my stiffen figure, letting me feel the anger rolling off of him. "How could you go without telling me! Me! And look at you-"

"Erm," Hermione says uneasily, vacating her place at Theo's bedside to stand beside me. "We will leave you guys alone..."

"You can't leave, Granger," I try to protest, but she pokes my arm, motioning for me to get out of here.

* * *

I don't ask where we are going and just let Hermione lead the way, not really caring about our destination or her silence as long as I can keep her within my sight. Given what happened last night, I don't like the prospect of letting her go about the castle alone.

I understand we are heading to the Ravenclaw Tower when we start climbing yet another set of stairs, and I inwardly thank Flint for that torture he calls training he inflicted upon me two hours a week until recently, for now I would be winded by the number of steps. I hadn't been exactly in shape before I started exercising with the Quidditch team, I'd been too thin and the amount of muscles in my arms and legs had been scarcely relevant for a training session, much less for a match.

Reaching the landing, Hermione raises the bronze knocker of the small door, tapping it once against the dark wood. The eagle speaks:

" _I am not alive, but I grow;_

_I don't have lungs, but I need air;_

_I don't have a mouth, but water kills me._

_What am I?_ "

Hermione doesn't blink nor stops a few seconds to consider the question before promptly answering, "You are fire."

"And so are you," the eagle replies, pushing the door open for us to enter.

As expected, the place is deserted, except for three seventh-years tucked in a corner of the room, hunched over books and papers. They lift their head the moment we step in and greet Hermione with a warm smile.

"What are you studying?" she asks, nearing them to inspect the books covering the round table.

"Arithmancy," a blond boy answers with a disconsolate grimace. "Wanna help?"

Hermione offers them an apologetic smile, "I would love to, but I have something to do now. Tomorrow?"

The boy nods his head, beaming at her. "Tomorrow it is. We still have a week for the test anyway."

Hermione's friends seem to take no notice of my presence, going back to their studies as soon as the girl turns to climb the narrow staircase taking to the dorms.

I flop down on the couch and make myself comfortable, anticipating that this will take a while since I'm sure Hermione wants to at least take a quick shower. I can imagine her darting into her dorm, impatient to peel off the clothes that saw her being hurt again, dirtied by the wet soil and Theo's blood. I would burn those clothes myself if I didn't know that the gesture may not be appreciated at all by their owner.

I tap my finger on the arm of the couch, my eyes flickering to the pocket watch open in my left hand: Hermione has been up there for fifteen minutes already. She hasn't specifically told me to wait here, or to follow her for that matter, but I won't have it any other way, not today and possibly not- not until this war is stopped for good. Or won, by whom I don't know.

I know nothing. I don't know what this war is really about, I don't know who is fighting who, I don't know where my allegiance lies. Slytherins look after their own, loyalty goes by definition of the name, yet  _my_  loyalty is going beyond my House as of late, right against the very principle set by the founder- set by my ancestor.

I don't know who I am anymore, what I'm supposed to do. Salazar Slytherin had given one instruction to his pet before I found and coerced it under my command, and he left one order for his heir, the wish I'm completely disregarding right now, as I sit on this comfy couch.

Hermione jogs down the stairs and walks to the door, turning to give me an expectant smile. For the second time this morning I silently follow her out the tower, inhaling the sweet fragrance she carries, a mixture that reminds me of chocolate and pines and something else, something I've smelled and tasted once, a scent that's not shampoo or the thin layer of perfume on her wrists, but solely, simply hers.

I walk closely behind her and we descend the stairs, my eyes fixed on the back of her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders and back in soft curls for once- so this is what took her so long earlier. We reach the first floor and Hermione takes a sharp turn for the Middle Courtyard, stepping outside; the sun is beating on the castle and a merry chirping of birds can be heard from between the bare branches of the old trees.

The Ravenclaw's head tilts slightly upwards, enjoying the sensation of the warm air on her skin after so many days of bad weather, and the sunlight shimmers on her wristwatch when she lifts a hand to shade her eyes: the sun isn't that strong today, but the stark change of light between inside the castle and out hurts the eyes.

We proceed for the library and I smile to myself at Hermione's predictability. I can't deny I like this side of her, the fact that albeit we are not here to read or study, or so I presume, this girl seeks out the library to find solace, the same place I've considered my haven since long ago.

Hermione walks to the farthest corner of the library without hesitation and my smile widens as she sits down at my favourite table, one of the few that students can use for group study. But the tug at my lips soon disappears when the girl takes out her wand to put up Silencing Charms.

Drawing my eyebrows together, I sit across from her and fold my arms on the cold surface, waiting.

I wait. And wait.

After a two good minutes of silence, I finally snap, "Hermione, what's-"

"Thankyou," she blurts out.

Not entirely understanding what's going on, I simply watch her take a deep breath. She says it again, "Thank you."

"You are welcome?" I reply, more uncertain than I wanted it to sound.

We are not here to talk about gratitude, that much I know, we both do, but Hermione shuts her mouth again, mentally debating over something.

"What are you thinking?" she asks eventually, nervously biting her bottom lip and fidgeting with the hem of her red sweater.

Looking her dead in the eye and, my voice turning hard, I blatantly answer, "That I want to kill  _him_."

Hermione doesn't wince but nods thoughtfully. I know I should tread carefully when it comes to what I think and want, but she needs an honest answer. I wonder if she understands what my statement entails, considering that she saw to what extent my anger can grow- and I managed to leave out more, that time in the tower. She hasn't seen the worst of me. I can't let her see it.

"You really saved us," Hermione murmurs, lowering her eyes to her knees. "If it hadn't been for you, Theo..."

Clearing her throat, Hermione pulls out my pocket watch and pushes it forward on the table- I forgot she had it.

"You know," I start, contemplating the silver watch ticking between us. "Last night wasn't the first time I felt the charm."

Hermione cocks her head to the side.

"I felt it weeks ago," I go on. "I was in the Great Hall, after the Quidditch game. I was talking with Flint and I- I heard it. It was the clock, the sound, and I felt it in my ears and there was this... feeling, pulling me towards something. I remember looking up and searching, but then I just ignored it-"

"What?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. "What were you searching?"

Swallowing down pride and guilt, I answer truthfully, "I was looking for you."

"Y-you," she stutters, seeming to shrink back from me. "You felt I was in danger?"

Anticipating what kind of thoughts are crossing her mind, I frantically shake my head, "I didn't know what it meant, I swear! I thought I was imagining it, but then last night I was coming to see you and you weren't there and I felt it again-"

"You were coming to see me-"

"Yes and I panicked when I understood you were out the castle! I thought- I won't tell what I thought, just that I was in pain and I knew I had to find you to make it stop."

"B-But how, how did the watch..." Hermione trails off, her chocolate eyes, so sad and thankful, darting between the pocket watch and my face.

I hesitate under her intense stare. "Erm, this is going to sound- yeah..."

"Yeah?"

"I followed the stars- of the clock."

Hermione closes her eyes for an instant, her eyelashes fluttering on her rosy cheeks, and I shift in my seat. Nodding to herself, she raises my pocket watch again, opening it in the palm of her hand. She smiles at the sight of the dial, the dark sky dotted by infinite stars, always oscillating on the spot.

"It's really a beautiful present," she sighs, "I'm glad that- HEY!"

Jumping in my chair, I snap my head up and quickly search our corner, but Hermione stands at once and leans over the table, clicking her fingers in front of my nose.

"What the hell, Granger!" I hiss, turning to look up at her. "What's wrong with you!"

"Shouldn't you be in class?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. She holds out my pocket watch, dangling from its chain, and points at it with her index finger. "You've missed two periods already!"

"A bit late to remind me now, isn't it?" I grin back, readjusting in my chair and prompting a scowl from her.

"I don't want to keep you from attending lessons, Riddle," she says seriously, resuming her seat.

I shrug, "I have nothing to worry about. I always get top grades regardless of my participation in class."

"Conceited much?" Hermione scoffs, her nose twitching.

"I've merely stated a fact, Granger. Jealous much?"

The girl looks at me indignantly. "I will have you know I'm at the top of the seventh-years too-"

" _Yet_  you got an E in the last Alchemy test while Evelyn got an O," I interrupt her, my tone smug enough to earn me a deadly glare.

* * *

Hermione joins the Ravenclaw table for lunch- her table. To my irritation, Alphard Black and his redhead boyfriend join as well, settling at either side of her, while I'm forced to squeeze a seat between Feodor and Zaiden.

I don't participate in the general conversation, too preoccupied to glower at the turned head of Alphard, seething inside at the memory of what his cousin did to me. I grip my fork, my hand ready to stab the older Slytherin in the eye, even though I know that  _this_  Black can't be aware of the beatings and the bruises and that he certainly has been spared of the insanity that runs down through the family line, or else he wouldn't keep a Gryffindor for best friend.

In the afternoon we decide to take advantage of the sunny day and take a stroll down the lake – meaning, Zaiden, Feodor, and Evelyn decide to skip classes but don't get the same scolding I did from Hermione.

Hermione and Evelyn are walking in front of us boys, arms linked to the elbow, and talking excitedly about Easter hols. The blonde has apparently just invited her best friend over her home to spend the week together, making Hermione graciously accept before thinking better of it and just throw her arms around Evelyn's neck, squeezing her in a tight hug.

"And you would think Clearwater wanted to kiss her on Christmas," Feodor mutters, walking beside me and watching the two girls in amusement.

Zaiden luckily doesn't hear, choosing this moment to go join the two girls in an exclusive Ravenclaw embrace.

"Your girlfriend has no shame," I say, shaking my head when said girl starts pulling silly faces at her housemates, making them bend in laughter until their stomach hurts. "She used to look like a scared bird every time a male spoke to her."

"I always liked her," Feodor declares out of the blue, stopping at the shadow of a birch tree. I spare him a funny look and he rubs his neck. "Since first year, actually. She was always in the library, you know, but I was never able to speak to her until recently. Until-"

Understanding, I nod, a small smile on my lips at the scene of a certain brunette chasing Zaiden down the shore, yelling, "Give me back my Sugar Quill!"

Soon enough it's evening and we all go back to the castle. When we arrive at the Marble Staircase, Hermione slows down while Zaiden, Feodor, and Evelyn proceed for the Great Hall, following the rest of the students. I stay behind.

"Aren't you going to dinner?" Hermione asks me, shuffling her feet.

Nodding, I say, "In a minute. I guess you aren't?"

"I want to go check on Theo. I feel bad for having left him alone the whole day."

I want to tell her not to feel guilty, that I'm sure her other friend was there the whole time and that Theo has probably been sleeping anyway, but I don't. I can't, because the next thing she does makes the words die on my tongue.

Hermione gingerly takes my hand, the left, not caring that students and teachers can see us. I don't care either. Her skin is hot, sending fire through my veins. The first time I touched her, it was cold.

She briefly looks down at my ring, feeling the band with her thumb.

"You've replaced the stone," she states, looking up again.

"Yes," I nod, dipping down my head a little to see her expression. "I had to- after what I did because of it-"

Letting go of me, she takes a step back, lifting her head to lock our eyes. "You saved me and Theo. You are forgiven."

Hermione hurries away at that and I remain where I am, bodies bumping into my shoulders and scampering past me as I keep my eyes on her back, dumbfounded.

.

* * *

.

"I thought we agreed! I thought we agreed that we hate him!"

Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a major headache coming on. Severus was pacing the common room of their headquarters. Luna, who was sitting beside Hermione on the couch, knees raised under chin, followed him with her eyes. Harry was cradling his head on the adjacent sofa. Theodore was sleeping in the room he shared with the latter, having been reluctantly dismissed by Madam Killick that night; the boy had told the matron he preferred to sleep in his bed, not liking the environment of the hospital and feeling better anyway, but Hermione knew that her friend just wanted company since she had been dismissed herself.

"Please, Severus, don't-" Hermione pleaded him, but her former teacher shot her a glare, daring her to continue.

"I'm so disappointed, Granger," he chastised her. "First you decide to confide in Nott- Nott, of all people! - and then you decide it's a brilliant idea to let  _Dumbledore_  in as well? The man's exploiting you! And look where his sweet talking got you- look what happened to Nott too!"

Hermione stood at once, annoyed at the older man that was so hell-bent on antagonising Albus Dumbledore out of vengeance for what he had forced a kid to do. She felt sympathy for that kid, but now said kid was a grown man, for Merlin's sake.

"Going to see Grindelwald was my decision," she said, her voice strained to stay calm. "Not Dumbledore's. It was mine. And Theodore wanted in-"

"Then you have been really stupid!" Snape bellowed, banging his hand on the table, making the stuff set on it rattle and fall over the carpet.

Now, Hermione had no doubts that she just couldn't be the most brilliant student that Hogwarts had ever seen, because that title apparently went to a certain dark-haired boy of the forties, according to Dumbledore, but she certainly had talent in reasoning, something she had always been proud of. But if there was something she hated, it was being called 'stupid'.

Sensing danger in the air, Harry looked up and widened his eyes at Severus, but the worst had already been said.

"Oh, so I am stupid?" Hermione mocked, wagging a finger in front of her face. "And, pray tell, what would you have done, professor? Ignore the Dark Lord, perhaps?"

"Look, Granger," Severus began, raising his hands in surrender, but Hermione wouldn't have it, not this time.

"No, you look!" she bit back, now pointing her finger at the window. "I was there yesterday night, and thank god I decided to go or else now I wouldn't know what that bastard knows!  _Or else_  now he would be knocking on Hogwarts's door to let his army in. Get it in your head, professor, now Theo and I are what stands between  _him_ and _us_!"

Hermione sat back on the couch, her stormy look fixed on Severus. He leaned against the table with a low growl.

"What about the spy?" the sullen man demanded, squinting his eyes. "Nott says he was there. Who is he?"

Hermione shuddered at the mention of the spy, her fingers twitching at the memory writhing under her skin.

"I don't know, I didn't see his face," she answered crisply, the weight of the lie falling onto her chest, followed by guilt for what she'd decided to hide from everyone, including Theodore. The identity of a man she'd trusted.

"Brilliant," Severus said wryly. "Now I presume we all should thank fucking Dumbledore for his backup plan, right?"

Before Hermione could let escape the sharp retort ready on her tongue, Luna spoke up for the first time that evening.

"Charlus' cloak," she said. Everyone but Snape sat up. "I think it's our main concern right now."

Everyone agreed with this, of course, and Harry didn't waste time presenting a plan worth of Ron Weasley, official strategist of the Golden Trio, and any Slytherin- Hermione thought that Theodore was particularly rubbing off on her best friend, and not in a negative way.

"Hermione lies," Harry stated, making Hermione open her mouth to protest. "No, you hear me, Hermione. You lie. Charlus can't be involved, so here's my idea: we fake a track. We- you tell Grindelwald you suspect someone in Gryffindor and invent a name. The bastard doesn't know each student in Gryffindor. We buy ourselves time."

"Harry!" Hermione frowned, already knowing this plan wouldn't work. "The spy will know I'm lying-"

"Not if I Confuse him," he interrupted her with a weak smile. Hermione instantly started to shake her head, foreseeing the end of what her best friend was suggesting. "I will come with you, I'll use the cloak-"

"Absolutely not! Not after what's happened to Theo-"

"It won't happen again, Hermione, trust me! I will check my Silencing Charms every five minutes, I swear-"

"I don't like this-"

"Neither do I, but it's the only way without putting Charlus in danger."

No one liked it, but no one had a better idea.

Plan made up, risks and prevention discussed, at least until Hermione received Grindelwald's next note, everyone assented to draw the meeting to a closure. Hermione left the tower a few minutes before curfew, walking to Dumbledore's office, while Harry went upstairs to check on Theodore. Luna and Severus disappeared, each headed in different directions tonight. No one stopped to consider this last change.

* * *

When Hermione entered Dumbledore's office, the Transfiguration teacher immediately stood to round his desk and near her. He scorched her face, genuine concern flickering in his light-blue eyes, but Hermione reassured him she was fine.

Lowering himself in his chair, he too didn't waste time to ask about the spy; the urgency in his voice made Hermione cringe and feel miserable for withholding such an important information, a single detail that could let them claim victory and end a war.

She'd been loyal once, she'd been a Gryffindor. What was she doing? What was she hoping to obtain?

Time.

She was buying time. She was sure there was a logical explanation for what the spy was doing... or was she just delusional?

Dumbledore, his face etched with premature lines of age that didn't go well with his long red hair, removed his spectacles to rub his tired eyes.

"Let's hope we'll be able to identify him on Equinox night," he said wearily, giving Hermione a faint smile. Her stomach dropped at the reminder of the event.

"What if they won't summon me?" Hermione considered. "What if they won't exploit the occasion?"

The teacher shook his head. "They will," he said, pushing back his spectacles up the bridge of his crooked nose. "I know Gellert, he won't pass up such an opportunity to have you out of the castle. Remember the circumstances of your last encounter, the Quidditch match..."

Hermione remembered, of course she did. _"I don't think they will even notice your absence. Slytherin against Gryffindor, Hermione? Not a chance."_

"He's..." Hermione tried to find the words. "He's poetic. He knows how to trap me. It's like- like a cage he builds, choosing the right time and the right place with so much... so much thought into it. He always plans everything to the detail, creating this- this labyrinth without an escape route. Knowing that he spends time planning our meetings so meticulously is just... It's unsettling."

"It makes you feel special," Dumbledore said dispassionately and Hermione nodded, digging her nails into her thighs through the fabric of her skirt. "When Gellert likes something, he works hard to obtain it and if it's a person, his first desire is to be the centre of their attention."

"He calls me 'love'," Hermione murmured, looking down at her knees, "And after- after he hurts me, he apologises. He... he tells me he's sorry."

Flashes of last night flooded Hermione's mind, Grindelwald squatting over her sprawled body, Theodore lying only a few feet away; his words, carrying so much pain, were whispered in her ear- " _I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm doing this for you, love. I'm so sorry."_

When Hermione finally found the courage to lift her head, Dumbledore was staring at his jewelled hands, a troubled expression painted on his face.

"He's," he started hesitantly, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and tried again, "He's unstable, Hermione. I apologise for putting you in such a dangerous position. I've never said how sorry I am for hurting you."

She was hurt, but somehow Hermione had forgotten the pain of last night. Deep down she knew the reason, but she just couldn't acknowledge it, she wasn't ready and it wasn't fair to her future and the people who she'd seen die before her eyes.

"You spent the day with Tom," Dumbledore commented, radically changing the subject and managing to startle the girl out of her musing. Too bad the new topic had everything to do with her conflicting thoughts.

Hermione didn't say anything and, unperturbed by her silence, the man continued, "And I know you haven't told him the truth. He deserves to know."

"I can't," she countered. She'd already told him she couldn't.

"You should, Hermione," he insisted, his penetrating gaze holding hers and searching for something- he found it.

Sagging back in his chair, he arched his eyebrows. "He's not that monster and you  _don't_ hate him. You don't  _have_  to hate him only because it's expected of you. How can he change if you don't let him-"

"He killed Harry's parents!" Hermione blundered out, clawing her fingers through her hair in frustration. "He killed so many people! W-we can be friends, but how can I... How can I trust him after what I saw? What's Harry going to-"

"Stop considering the future, Hermione!" Dumbledore said firmly, leaning forward to catch her hands. "Stop considering what your friends will think of you. Just ask yourself, what do  _you_  want?"

Hermione helplessly looked at her mentor. His encouraging and accepting smile held the answer.

"Just tell him, Hermione. Trust him."

"He's a Slytherin, I'm Muggle-born-"

"Trust him."

* * *

Wednesday morning saw Hermione attending lessons, but her mood hadn't changed since her conversation with Dumbledore the night before. She'd been silent for three consecutive hours now.

Assuming that her friend had had another fight with Tom, who'd been particularly unsociable himself at breakfast, Evelyn finally asked Hermione what the hell was wrong during Ancient Runes, but the brunette just hung her head and kept scribbling notes in her notebook.

When the bell rang, Hermione gathered all her things and dashed out of the door, mingling with all the students streaming out of classrooms and invading the corridors. Evelyn appeared beside her a moment later.

"The teacher was calling for you," she panted, scowling at Hermione. Indeed, a voice was calling for her from behind the herd of students, but she ignored it, skirting the pupils to get as far away as possible.

Suddenly, a hand closed around Hermione's wrist and the girl was spun around. Chocolate eyes met silver and a grimace formed on her lips.

"Miss Granger," professor Noel said, frowning down at her. "Can I talk you for a mom-"

"I can't," Hermione said, snatching her hand back. She lied, "I have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore."

"Hermione, it will take just a moment," he tried again, his hand coming to her arm, but she shook it off.

Eyes sweeping the corridor and making sure that no one was looking at them, Hermione lowered her voice and hissed, "Don't talk to me. You are dead to me,  _Gavril_."

The girl swung around without sparing the man another glance and quickly caught up with Evelyn. The two girls sat at the Ravenclaw table for lunch and Hermione ignored the insistent stare coming from the High Table, turning to listen attentively to one of Zaiden's stories. Or at least she tried to.

Anger was consuming her.

She'd trusted him, for a moment she'd even thought she liked him, but fortunately that had been proved wrong by another's kiss. The fact that she'd thought good of professor Noel-  _Gavril_ , she reminded herself bitterly- remained. She had cared for him, even, and it had been so easy: he was always kind and sweet, so passionate when teaching, the perfect combination between her favourite teachers from her time- perfect. His perfection was fake.

Gavril Noel was a lie and this lie hurt because it had revealed itself to be at the complete disposal of the enemy.

"Something on your mind?"

Snapped out of her dark contemplations, Hermione smiled at Feodor.

The Slytherin sat across from her, stealing a handful of chips off her plate- seriously, the boy ate more than Ron and Harry put together.

"Not really," she shrugged, pushing her plate under Feodor's nose. The Slytherin grinned at her and proceeded to shove food down his throat, but in a very clean and aristocratic way. Abandoning a conversation between her, Davies and Lovegood, Evelyn pinched her boyfriend's arm.

"So, Feodor, where's your counterpart?" Hermione asked.

For answer, the boy looked past her shoulder and Hermione twisted around on the bench; sure enough, Tom was sitting at the Slytherin table, looking very bored as he lazily twirled a fork on his empty plate, his dark eyes fixed on Flint, who, judging by the way his hands were gesticulating frenetically, was explaining him something.

"Flint wants to ask Slughorn to let Slytherin have the Pitch three evenings a week until the next match," Feodor said and Hermione looked back at him, raising her eyebrows.

"Does that mean-"

"That Flint wants to kill his team?" he finished, curling his lips downwards. "Yes. Weasley lost a bet with Flint and gave him permission to use the Pitch on Gryffindor's evenings of training. Next game is Slytherin-Ravenclaw, so it was alright... Only problem is that reservations of the Pitch can't be handed like that. So Flint's trying to convince Tom to talk to old Slughorn."

"Why doesn't he ask Alphard? He's Head Boy."

Feodor shrugged, "Nothing against Black, but Tom has a way with words. He's good at convincing people, especially Slughorn."

Of that Hermione had no doubt.

* * *

The afternoon proceeded swiftly.

Not a breath of air stirred the leaves while Hermione followed professor Kettleburn to the edge of the forest for his two-hours lesson of Care of Magical Creatures.

She'd been surprised to find the subject available for N.E.W.T.s, and being the swot she was, she just couldn't pass the opportunity to study one of her favourite topics. The teacher's lessons were always captivating, given that the man himself always showed the most beautiful creatures that could be found in the Forbidden Forest, accompanied by the recounting of adventures that students failed to believe but still appreciated immensely.

Hermione hadn't liked Hagrid's lessons for obvious reasons, no matter how much she cared for her giant friend - even if Kettleburn  _did_  love dangerous creatures as much as Hagrid – therefore she hadn't learned to love the subject the way she loved it now.

In short, Kettleburn's lessons were often as original as Dumbledore's and interesting as Lupin's.

...But when a day started badly, the rest of it was bound to go bad all the way, and that was what had exactly happened.

The teacher had found a hippogriff in the forest and, in full Hagrid's style, had decided to let the students interact with the creature.

It'd actually been a repeat of the Malfoy's accident, only this time the offender was a Hufflepuff boy, a very sorry Hufflepuff boy, who'd had the misfortune of stepping on a twig and making a noise that the hippogriff hadn't appreciated at all. Within a blink, the teacher was shielding the poor boy from the displeased creature's claws and losing an arm.

Students of Hermione's original time always thought that the old and eccentric professor had lost his limbs because of his legendary recklessness, but this certainly wasn't foolhardy action.

Shivering, Hermione and the rest of the class re-entered the castle, hushed murmurs of fear hovering the group walking behind Kettleburn, who was preceding them to the Hospital Wing, head held high and what remained of his arm cradled to his chest. Madam Killick nearly fainted at the sight of the battered man.

Now Hermione and Evelyn were descending the stairs to go to the Great Hall and it was just Hermione's luck that Gavril was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

"Miss Granger, about your essay-"

Suppressing a groan, the girl ignored him, well aware that he was a teacher and could deduct points because of her attitude, but she couldn't have cared less. Evelyn didn't comment the incident and simply followed her to dinner.

* * *

That night Hermione received a note.

She'd been tossing and turning about her bed up in Ravenclaw Tower for hours until a sudden burst of light startled her. Alarmed, she sat up, her heart hammering at the sight of a piece of paper laid on her bed-cover.

Unable to swallow down the lump in her throat, Hermione scrambled for her wand under the pillow and, found it, she anxiously moved the stick in the air, checking her Silencing Charms. She didn't expect enemies' instructions and threats to speak, but she made sure to Ward her corner of the dorm in case her nightmares got too restless again.

Chewing her bottom lip, Hermione lit her oil lamp and warily brought the note under her nose. Her lungs immediately deflated as an elegant, sloping handwriting met her eyes. A smile formed on her lips.

**Why is the Hospital Wing empty?**

Hermione rummaged in the drawer of her bedside table, feeling for a Muggle pen. Re-emerging a second later in victory, she raised her knees for leverage and wrote:

**Why are you in the Hospital Wing? And I believe Kettleburn's still confined there.**

The piece of paper disappeared. Less than twenty seconds later, it fell again in her hands.

**Where the hell are you then? And no, man's not there.**

The professor had probably run away to go tend the very creature that had almost killed him, Hermione thought. Grinning, she scribbled her response under Tom's; she cringed at how horrid her handwriting was compared to his.

**I was dismissed yesterday. I'm sleeping with Ev.**

Hermione drew a Sugar Quill from the second drawer of her bedside table, where she kept her stock of sweets. She was unwrapping the goodie when the note reappeared.

**That's an image you should never put in a male's mind, Granger.**

Hermione quickly reread her last message. She rolled her eyes.

**I mean I'm in the tower. Prick.**

**Yes, I gathered that. Your finesse is enchanting as ever. So now you are sleeping alright?**

**Yes.**  Lie. She had woken up Evelyn with her screams only the night before.

**Good. Go to sleep, Granger.**

.

* * *

.

The week passes slowly, time flowing like cement between lessons, short breaks, and more lessons.

I rarely see Granger, but not for lack of trying on my part: there's always something or someone hampering me from greeting her in the morning or go sitting at her table at meals, namely Darius Flint, young Slytherins to be tutored and prefect duties.

The weekend is spent working with the other prefects on the last details for the Equinox, shuttling between Hogsmeade and the dusty closets of the castle, where we keep the material. As I told Dumbledore days ago, everything is really set, but there's always one of us coming up with a new idea to improve the Great Hall, so the work never finishes.

The shrunken box I was supposed to give Granger on Valentine's night still sits in the pocket of my blazer; maybe I should just send it over with a charm and be done with it- yet the idea doesn't please me that much.

The following week proceeds like the previous, minus dark attacks on students. I'm still busy with arrangements for the Equinox and, added to the load of commitments, there's the just opened Duelling Club held by professor Merrythought, to which I'm clearly expected to participate. Unfortunately, most seventh-years don't join, busy with preparations for their upcoming N.E.W.T.s – Granger is among them.

Feodor keeps on spending time with the Ravenclaws while I'm forced to stay away and watch my friends from afar- it feels like a  _déjà_ - _vu_ , only this time no voice is hissing in my ear.

No threat of blood is between me and her, but I'm still sitting here, at the Slytherin table, Greengrass clinging to my arm, Malfoy and Rosier talking nonsense across from me.

I'm still at the end of the hallway, looking at Granger walk to the next lesson, a stolen smile in my direction, before a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor steals her away.

For days I can only watch her from a distance, a long silence stretching between us, but by the end of the second week I let the silence stretch only for that amount of time, until I can ask how she's doing in a stupid note afterwards. Afterwards is during the night, when the curtains around my bed are drawn and Silencing Charms put in place.

We write almost every night. Sometimes I know Granger can't fall asleep because she keeps writing after one in the morning, so I let us talk for hours about anything, mostly the books we both read, until the note in my hand doesn't disappear, letting me know that dormancy has finally caught her.

Other nights I don't write her at all. That's when rage rushes through my veins for what she's doing to me, for the addiction I'm developing. I spend the night hating her, cursing her name, cursing her blood and everything she stands for. I fucking hate her during these nights.

At times she's the one to write first, but on Monday night I ignore her note, too furious to speak to her.

Tuesday night I ignore her again, irate with myself and completely humiliated.

On Wednesday night she sends over three notes, but I respond to none. I feel angry and guilty and ashamed that, when the third piece of paper falls on my bed with a weak burst of light, I'm still out of breath and muffling the gasps into my pillow, a thin layer of sweat coating my forehead and shoulders, my body wracked with self-loathing.

Thursday morning I see her walk into the Great Hall for breakfast. I lower my eyes before they can settle on her, but it's too late. I see the exhaustion on her face and violet smudges under her eyes, the appearance of someone who wakes up constantly from nightmares- the guilt in the pit of my stomach flares.

I send her a note after lunch and everything is back to normal.

* * *

Today is the 8th of March, a rainy Wednesday morning.

"I told her you've been busy for the Equinox."

Looking away from the Ravenclaw table, where my eyes have been for several minutes now, I find Feodor arching his eyebrows at me, expectant. I nod.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he asks, piling food on his plate.

Swirling the cream in my coffee with the spoon, I shrug. "She knows I'm busy without you telling her."

"You guys still talking via notes?"

I glare at Feodor and he gives me an innocent look, hiding a smirk as he pours pumpkin juice in his goblet. Clenching my jaw, I grab a toast and butter it with unnecessary force.

"Hey, what got you the hump now?" he asks, his eyes comically wide.

"I'm fine," I dismiss him and he quirks an eyebrow, nodding, 'sure you are'.

I can't tell him I'm annoyed that after three weeks I still haven't had the chance to physically talk to her, or give her those stupid chocolates like a first-year Gryffindor, but Feodor, who usually doesn't notice things, reads and interprets my expression better than his girlfriend.

"You're both busy, that's why you haven't seen much of each other lately," he says, making a lot of sense, but it still feels disappointing. "Only yesterday she was telling me how many essays they have these days-"

I interrupt him with a loud scoff and knock back my coffee, the hot liquid burning my throat. "It's not her fault. It's me- and Flint. And Slughorn. And the little idiots who can't just make a simple Levitation Charm work, no matter how many times I show them-"

"You need a vacation, mate."

An arm is thrown around my shoulders and the goofy grin of Darius Flint comes within my sight, glimmering at inches from my face. I fight back a growl.

"Sorry, couldn't help overhear ya," he chuckles. "So our little prefect is a bit exhausted, isn't he?"

Forcing myself to remain patient, I shrug his arm off. "I'm completely-"

"Yes, yes, you are completely fine," he finishes, waving his hand. "Look, I may feel a tad guilty for pushing you lately, so let me help you."

I pull back from him and frown in confusion.

"Granger," he elaborates with a smirk.

I make to deny whatever he's implying, but Flint shuts me up.

"Alphard asked her to the Equinox," he says, lowering his voice. "I heard from Greengrass that the lass said no. Greengrass also heard that two other Gryffindors will ask her later."

Keeping my mouth from falling open, I watch Flint climb off the bench. He leans over the table one final time. "May this help you, my child."

And with that he's gone, jacket slung over his shoulder, striding out of the hall while sending winks to the Gryffindor table.

Staring down into my empty cup, I roll the revelation around in my brain. Either she's not going to the Equinox or she has already someone to accompany her.

"Ask her."

I snort at Feodor, "I'm a Slytherin, remember? It's not appropriate."

"You two have been seen together many times before!" he says incredulously. "My girlfriend is a Ravenclaw too and I'm a snake."

"Your girlfriend is a pure-" I stop short of finishing the sentence. But it's unequivocal, the direction of my thoughts.

This is- I thought I was over it. Even now, I know I don't care, yet, deep down, I... I kissed her, knowing what she is. So, why-

"I understand," Feodor nods stiffly. Without looking at me, he picks up his satchel and heads to the first lesson of the day.

* * *

Feodor sits next to me at each lesson, tense. He speaks to me only when necessary during Potions. He doesn't snap at me as I would do when angry, he doesn't let irritation show on his face. In fact he appears normal, but the silent treatment speaks volume.

I'm furious with myself too, can't he see it? I don't know where I stand anymore: on one side there are centuries of heritage, on the other there's her. Sometimes the former just takes over and talks for me, it's hard to suppress. I even had to spend energies trying to forget the word 'Mudblood' when Hermione's around.

I see Hermione's bushy head when I move from the Potions' classroom to Transfiguration. Walking down the corridor, I see her speaking to a boy, the same one I saw weeks ago in Ravenclaw Tower.

"That's Adrian Goldstein," a disembodied voice says. I move my head to the right and Calia appears on my side. "You know, Julian's brother."

My hands are balled into tight fists, tucked in the pockets of my slacks. I say nothing and keep walking, my gaze following Hermione as she turns the corner, leaving a disappointed Goldstein.

_Good._

"She doesn't look okay," Calia comments, stepping in Dumbledore's classroom. "The teachers noticed too. One actually asked her if everything's alright and her answer was quite rude, really..."

Letting my satchel slide to the floor, I sit at our usual desk- Feodor is already at the end of it, a book open under his nose.

"How do you know?" I inquire, drawing out my worn copy of  _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ and a notebook.

"Oh, my sister was there," Calia answers airily, smiling at the teacher when he steps in the room with his usual two minutes of delay. "Slytherins share the advanced course of Ancient Runes with the Ravenclaws this year, apparently."

"What happened then?"

I keep my voice light and disinterested and the girl seems to buy it for she shrugs her shoulders, writing the date at the top of her sheet of parchment. "Oh, nothing, the teacher didn't even dock points."

"Wait, isn't Ancient Runes taught-"

"Alright, let's start!" Dumbledore's cheerful voice cuts me off. All murmurs die down at once and the lesson begins.

I spend the hour taking notes, pretending to be oblivious to the tension radiating off of Feodor. It's not easy, not when I know his mood is entirely justified and my words of earlier cruel, not when I know how hypocritical of me those words are considering what I did to Granger on my birthday, what I do before falling asleep every night- considering the way my eyes turned green at the mere sight of a boy talking to Granger.

Of course at this point I'm past caring about her blood, but not about all the rest. One thing is to talk to her in the library, another is to ask her out to an official gathering.

I'm a Slytherin, while, in all her perfections and imperfections, Hermione's blood remains that of a Muggle-born. Asking her to the Equinox would send a specific message, one that I don't know if I'm ready to accept myself. I can't- I can't.

I won't ask her. The decision makes me boil inside, but I won't.

"You're an idiot."

The words are whispered in my ear. I turn my head and find Feodor looking at me, an unfamiliar cold glint in his blue eyes. He heard me. I was speaking my mind again.

"Scared to be judged?" he hisses and I grind my teeth, staring back ahead at Dumbledore, who is pacing in front of the desk, explaining animatedly Human Transfiguration. "Scared Salazar will curse you?"

" _Shut. Up._ " I grit out.

"Scared Black will come back to beat you if you date a Muggle-born? It wasn't pretty last time, I'm sure he would love to have another go if you give him the right excuse-"

The bell rings and I don't stay to listen to the rest. I grab my satchel and storm out of the classroom before Dumbledore's dismissal.

I march down the corridor, hands shaking.

Feodor's right, always so fucking right.

Why do I have to make up my mind and then mess it up only two seconds later? Everything's just right one moment, and then all the wrong considerations spear my conscience and denial assaults me.

I don't care she's Muggle-born. I really don't care.

I come to a halt in the middle of a deserted corridor. Leaning against the wall, I look up at the sky out of the window, the black clouds covering the horizon and pouring out rain.

"You don't have to do what you are expected to, you know."

I don't turn around. Feodor's footsteps stop beside me.

"You just do what you want without caring what others will think. You've always taken what you wanted- don't stop now."

"I don't care she's not a pure-blood," I say softly, still looking outside, witnessing the wind rise after weeks of sun. Bending the trees, it starts its howling, taking me back to the beginning. It was raining the night I acknowledged- whatever this is.

"I know you don't."

"What is this?" I murmur, the sound drowned by the drops hitting the glass, concealing the weakness in my voice.

"That I don't know," Feodor sighs, though I hear the smile in his tone. "It's only for you to find out."

When I turn around, my Knight is gone.

I linger here, under the window, searching for an answer in the water washing over the glass, flowing so easily, without a care in the world. Everything out of my mind seems so easy... I reach into the pocket of my blazer and draw out the stupid box.

I cough at the red ribbon wrapped around it, certain that it  _wasn't_  there when I left the gift in the Hospital Wing nights ago- it has written Dumbledore all over it, the meddlesome oaf.

* * *

Evelyn and Zaiden eat at our table at lunch. The Ravenclaw blonde even manages to strike up conversation with Hana and Caliadne, something that no non-Slytherin girl has ever done before. Predictably, they are talking about the Equinox.

"I heard Flitwick's practically whipping the Frog Choir," Evelyn laughs, shaking her head with a glance at the High Table, where the Charms Master is waving his hands, conducting an orchestra in his plate. "Always the perfectionist."

"He's dishy," Hana comments, gazing intensely at the half-man in question. "A bit too short, but definitely dishy."

Evelyn and Calia nod in agreement and Feodor gags in his goblet. I inwardly do the same.

Evelyn, being the little gossip she is, initiates the topic I was praying she would forget.

"So, Caliadne," she starts, clasping her hands in front of her, "who are you taking to the Equinox?"

"Why, Adrian of course," she exclaims, popping a cherry in her mouth. "I do feel second choice to Granger, but he was so cute when he asked me! I just couldn't reject him."

Feodor and I share a glance.

Eyes narrowed, I jerk my head no, daring Feodor, but he ignores me and clears his throat, "Speaking of Granger... Where is she?"

Evelyn looks up, a frown creasing her forehead. "I don't know, I haven't seen her since Ancient Runes."

My hand goes to the pocket of my blazer on its own, fingers feeling for the hard metal through the fabric- the pocket watch is silent, normally ticking against my heart.

Granger's fine. She might be with Theo, wherever the man is staying within the castle. Or perhaps she's in the library. She's fine.

When I resurface from my self-reassuring thoughts, Evelyn is interrogating Hana Parkinson and the latter is promptly clarifying that she and Abraxas aren't a couple, but will attend the Equinox as one for convenience. Malfoy, who is sitting on my right, mutters something about having been threatened to death by a banshee.

"What about you, Tom?" Evelyn questions, propping her head up on both elbows, granting me her whole attention. When I seek Feodor's eyes for help, the idiot looks away, leaving me to handle his girlfriend's inquisition alone.

"What about me?" I ask back, buying myself time to muster up a polite answer that will steer her away from my business.

"Who will you ask to the Equinox?"

"No one."

"Oh."

Feodor, at last, swings his head around to shoot me a glare and I scowl back at him, missing the way Evelyn's face has fallen all of a sudden.

After lunch, Feodor accompanies Evelyn to her next class and I'm left alone to stroll back to the dungeons and spend my rare free hour reading a book. Or... I could run after the seventh-year Ravenclaws and steal Granger for the following hour- although I'm sure Feodor didn't mean this when he told me to not stop taking what I want.

I'm still Tom fucking Riddle, aren't I? I could even get away with it, and all thanks to a smile and the right shade of pink in my cheeks.

Hands in my pockets, I sigh heavily and make my way to the library through the drove of people scurrying to class, attempting not to bump into their bustling bodies. I keep my head held high when girls stop to gawp at my passage, even though inside I just want to hang my head down and reach my destination without attracting too much attention, something I've never managed to do in the last four years of school.

I plaster a sorry smile on my face when a nervous fifth-year Slytherin springs up in front of me to stutter an invitation to the Equinox. The girl is cute, she's small and has a round face framed by curly brown hair, but she looks so shy and frail I fear she may pass out at any moment.

Looking past the girl, I catch a boy and another female sniggering behind their classmate, most likely watching the result of a dare. Inwardly rolling my eyes, but still feeling somewhat contrite for her, I tilt the cute girl's chin with my finger and treat her with a genuine smile of my own.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Emily," she replies, attempting a shaky smile.

"I'm sorry, Emily-"

I blink. I forget the words, my throat constricting, a blur of frizzy hair rushing past the Slytherin girl's shoulders.

Anger surging in my chest, I step around Emily without a second glance and stalk ahead, pushing away the students- the scene unfolds before my eyes, dismissed by everyone else.

In the middle of the hallway, the bastard has his hand wrapped around Hermione's arm and his face over hers. She looks frightened. He's trying to drag her somewhere- she shrugs his filthy hand off of her.

Someone walks in front of me and I contain a snarl, restraining my hands at my side not to shove the kid out of my fucking way- but it's too late. She's already gone.

_Damn it. Fuck._

"Hey, Tom!"

It's Feodor. He shows on the end of the corridor and I dash towards him.

"Evelyn's class," I demand through my teeth, "what is it."

"Erm, Kettleburn's, but what-"

I don't hear the rest and charge ahead, down corridor after corridor before she can reach the Clock Courtyard and get away with it. People are obstructing the passage to the courtyard, but I see her bushy head among the others.

Granger squeals in panic when I seize her wrist and drag her to the alcove behind a tapestry. Unaware voices passing inches away from us, she struggles against me, trying to shake off the hand that's covering her mouth, her own hands failing to push me away because I won't budge, not today.

"Stop it, Granger," I rumble.

Her body stiffens at once and, slowly, her head is lifted, her eyes going round and fixing on me through the dim light of this secluded space. I uncover her mouth, my palm wet with her saliva and carrying the deep, red signs of her bites.

"Bloody hell, Riddle!" she curses, swatting my arm. She's about to do it again, so I grab her hands and hold them between us.

"What was that, Granger?" I ask, my voice harsh in contrast to the gentle grip I maintain on her wrists. Outside, I hear the corridor emptying.

Her eyes turn cold. "What was what-"

"Don't play dumb," I rebuke, squeezing her fingers once. "I saw you- just now, he was touching you and you were scared."

Hermione shakes her head, pushing against my chest with both our pair of hands, and I push her back against the wall, making her hiss at the cold bricks touching the bare skin of her legs, because she's always wearing her skirts so short, shorter than the other girls-

"Have you been seeing him? What does he want with you-"

"That's none of your business-" she snaps, pushing again, but I thrust our hands at her sides.

"It is," I retort fiercely, staring down at her, shadows of students now long gone leaving place to a slice of light entering our alcove. "I don't share, Granger."

Her eyes widen. "W-what are you talking about-"

"I saw you on New Year's. And Valentine's day- and earlier. I don't share, Granger, so you can tell Noel to fuck off or I-"

" _Stop it!_ " she half-yells, her hands shaking. Her eyes hold mine, horror flashing in her chocolate orbs. I should take a step back, but I don't. "Stop it! What right do you have- you! I'm  _nothing_  to you and you have no right to tell me- I'm none of your business!"

"Yes,  _you are_  my business, the old bastard will find someone else-"

"There's nothing!"

" _Don't lie_! I saw you on New Year's! I saw him kiss you- and you ran away! And the rose-"

"That's none of your-"

"He's a teacher, so it is my business, damn it! I can report him-"

"I tell you nothing happened!"

"Stop lying! I'm not blind, Hermione, I saw you two! He was hurting you only now-"

"And I dealt with it, I'm fine!"

"You are not denying it then-"

"What the hell's your problem!?  _Why_  is this any of your business-"

"Because-" I don't fucking know why either, so I release her wrists and bang my fist into the wall, " _Because!_ "

" _I don't understand!_ "

Growling, I pin her flat to the wall and, without thinking, without hesitating, I crush myself into her personal space, a hand buried in her curls, the other trembling against the rough bricks. I close and squeeze my eyes at her sharp intake of breath- and I wait. I wait for her to push me away. I wait, and when she doesn't, I drop my forehead in the crook of her neck, I drink in her air, take in her scent and fuel my addiction.

I swallow, shifting my forehead, my nose touching her neck.

My voice is a low murmur. "Do you understand now."

I can't bring myself to let it sound as a question, I'm too aware of where I'm, who I'm touching, whose chest is pressing against mine, rising and falling with uneven breaths.

I'm waiting, hanging on her unspoken words while feeling her skin, the blood coursing through my veins searing the flesh- and from the depths of my soul I feel it, this sensation of inner bliss, waiting, dreading to be trampled on and suffocated. I-

I shouldn't touch her like this. I can be severely punished for it.

Opening my eyes, I draw away from her- she follows me.

Breath catches in my throat as she moves with me, her hips still pressed against mine, my hardness against her stomach.

 _This is what you do to me_ , I want to tell her. I keep my mouth shut.

"B-but..." Hermione stammers, looking up at me, confused, her hands gripping my arms for support. "You are with Greengrass-"

Eyebrows shooting up, I splutter, "What?"

Letting go of my arms, Hermione pulls away, depriving me of her warmth. A look of loss crosses her gaze and I know she's feeling the same way I do, but a moment later her eyes are burning.

"Greengrass," she spits, crossing her arms over her chest. "The girl drooling all over you at every meal, the one who has the Snitch, remember- and don't make that face, everyone knows! Even weeks after the game people still talk about it-"

I roll my eyes, "And you believe every rumour you hear, don't you?"

"Rumours? I can see you two! You don't exactly hide when she practically sits in your lap in the Great Hall-"

"That was for show!" I counter, doing my best not to throw my hands in the air in exasperation. "Because the other girls won't give me a break!"

"And you expect me to believe you!?" Hermione huffs incredulously, shaking her head, curls bouncing about her face, electrified, her cheeks and neck flushed.

"Yes! Calia even knows about- ha, that's not important- she's dating a Ravenclaw- damn it! I don't want to talk about her-"

"I'm not one of your Slytherin girls, Riddle," she says stoutly, making absolute no sense.

"I know you aren't, Granger!" I bite back indignantly, affronted at her insinuation and frustrated to no end that she still doesn't want to understand. "I thought that my- that I made myself clear on New Year's!"

Unfolding her arms, Hermione stomps her foot. "What! What is clear?!"

"Fuck it, Granger, do I have to spell it out for you!?" I shout, shoving a hand in the inside pocket of my blazer. Stumbling back a step, I toss the shrunken box in her hands and hastily avert my gaze.

"What-"

"You are a Ravenclaw, use your brain," I say icily, my gaze stoically set on the dark-red tapestry, though I don't miss the box reshaping in its original size out the corner of my eye.

Several seconds of silence spread between us.

Eventually, she lifts her head, a curious expression about her face. "Was this for-"

"Yes," I say it, not wanting to even pronounce again the name of that stupid day.

"Why?"

Burying my face in my hands, I groan. She wants me to say it, to admit it for her own personal enjoyment. Over my grave.

"You gave me chocolate before," she points out when I don't respond.

"Read the card, Granger," I just tell her, jutting my chin to the white piece of paper stuck on the box's lid. Her eyes skim the words and her lips curl downwards.

"'Don't... Don't get fat and don't choke on them'?" She throws the card at my face. "Really?!"

Clenching my jaw, I straighten up the card, turn it over and hand it back.

Hermione's lips part slightly.

"'Will you'..." she starts reading, her voice soft. "'be my date for the Equinox?'"

"Sure," I shrug, a tiny smirk finding its way on my face.

A few seconds pass before Hermione gives me  _that_ annoyed look. But then she falls silent and doesn't return my smile.

"Hey," I say, stepping towards her and tilting my head to catch her expression. "Someone else-"

"No," she interrupts me. I don't feel relieved though. "I wasn't- I'm not planning on going."

What girl doesn't want to attend a ball?

"This is the first time Hogwarts holds something like this," I inform her, managing to keep the disappointment out of my voice. When she doesn't say anything, I try again, "Would knowing that I've worked extra hard to impress a certain Ravenclaw help change your mind?"

Peering upward from under her eyelashes, she bites her bottom lip. I wish she stopped doing that, but at the same time I want to be the one to do it for her.

"Please," I whisper, raising my hand to free her lip from her chewing. I let my fingers linger on her mouth, only for a moment.

Hand falling to my side, I wait again. The sound of the distant rain intensifies when, at last, Hermione looks up to give me the briefest of nods... and I know I've won.

Closing our distance one more time, I cup her cheek and slip an arm around her waist, pressing our bodies together. A small gasp leaves her mouth.

"You are my business," I husk, dipping my head over hers, our nose brushing with our heavy breathing. "Only mine. Don't let the bastard near you again."

Hermione shakes her head, "I need to tell you-"

"It can wait."

"About Grindelwald-"

"I already know. It can wait."

And with that I shut her up and hungrily move my lips on hers, devouring her in a kiss I've been fantasizing every night, setting my soul on fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise! I apologise for the ridiculous length of this chapter (12470 words) - but I think the end was worth it hehe
> 
> Okay, so, I won't talk about nonsense today. Here's a serious question for you all. Theodore and Harry's scenes, from next chapter onwards - do you want them or not want them?
> 
> I'll be honest here, I love these two characters, and some scenes are already written (and if you are picking up the hints, I think you already know their content). I have the feeling that readers are divided on this aspect, so I would love to hear your opinion.
> 
> I mean, Tom is the protagonist, but Theo is the engine of everything here, so, should we give him his space in this story? Do let me know, people!
> 
> As always, kisses to all my reviewers and a special shout-out to MaidenAlice for her speculations. They went really well with the end of the last chapter, but unfortunately I already had most of this one already written. Don't worry, Tommy will have his revenge! And the idea of Theo being comforted by Evelyn is so sweet, though I still don't know how to work out their fateful meeting.
> 
> Your reviews always help my Muse, guys! So, review!


	15. Chapter 14 - Games

 

She looks at me with fiery eyes from the foot of my bed. Her hair is pulled away from her face, in a braid or a ponytail, I don't know. It's so dark I can't see anything but her face, dimly lit by my oil lamp.

In her hand, a shard of glass catches a flicker of light; I don't question its presence as I don't overthink hers, not when she stares at me, standing there, motionless, pinning me down with her unreadable expression, wearing nothing but a white sheet wrapped around her body.

And when she's here, looming over me, her stray hair swaying before her face and tickling my forehead and jaw, I reach out a hand and I burn.

I burn and burn at the contact, chocking back a moan as the cold glass in her hand travels down my naked arm with agonising slowness, pausing over my open palm, shifting to my torso, sliding on my skin.

She's burning up and I burn and hiss while the cold glass rests over my heart and her other hand descends, slithering across my chest, over my belly, taking away my pain and giving it back.

The shard breaking my skin.

I cry out as blood gushes from my heart and the glass goes deep- and she looks at me from the foot of the bed, tears staining her rosy cheeks.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice breaks on a sob.

"Tell her why."

Stabbing me, it's him. It's always him.

"Tell her why-"

"Because I have to hide my evil from you." I cry.

"Because you are everything he wants." His breath hits my ear in a whisper. "Sweet as ambrosia, but wicked as poison. Yet he keeps drinking. The fool mortal- he thinks you can clean him with your mercy. Thinks he can keep me hidden."

I'm trying to be better. Why this again?

"Because I'm not someone else. I'm the murderer seeking blood. No one can save you... You deserve the pain, I'm fed with it."

If this is the only way to keep you away...

"You will never keep me away."

Why are you here. To tell me-

"That I always win."

And in my blood I drown, knowing that mercy will be waiting on the other side, his voice hissing in my ears,

"Time to be fed."

.

* * *

.

"Where's Hermione?"

Perched on the window's sill, Harry looked up from his book at Theodore's entrance in their headquarters.

Shrugging off the Invisibility Cloak, Theodore slumped on the couch and ran his fingers through his long hair. A remote voice in his head reminded him he needed a cut... he would have to ask Luna later as he didn't trust himself to use even such a simple charm on his own hair. Spending too much time with Draco did exactly that, turn you into the Queen of Vanity.

"No idea," he replied wearily, crossing his leg over his knee. "Dumbledore said she hasn't attended lessons this afternoon. Do you think we should worry?"

Harry didn't reply, going back to the tome open in his lap, one of Hermione's.

The Slytherin sighed, anticipating another evening in which Harry Potter would ignore him, leaving him to twiddle his thumbs until Luna and Severus' return for dinner.

It had been like these for weeks now, the two of them speaking to each other only for the necessary question or strained greeting in the morning. Had they not shared a dorm, Theodore was sure that the other would have ignored him completely. Why, he didn't know.

Theodore hadn't tried to ask though, not after the various attempts at starting a conversation at every given opportunity throughout the day and, sometimes, when he couldn't fall asleep, in the middle of the night. In these last occasions, everything he'd obtained was an irritated grunt and Harry turning away from him.

After two weeks, Theodore was starting to get tired of the situation.

Leaning forward, the flames in the fireplace bathing his skin in warmth, he eyed Harry, biting the inside of his cheek and debating whether to try talking to him again or not, but the abrupt sound of a door slamming shut and bouncing against its hinges made the decision for him- and almost jump off of the couch.

Theodore sprung to his feet and faced an annoyed Severus Snape. Luna stepped inside a few seconds later, an indecipherable look upon her tired face, and shut the door behind her, gently this time.

Closing his book with a thud, Harry lifted his head to glare at Severus. "I would appreciate it,  _sir_ , if you didn't try to break doors next time you-"

"He's a  _liar_."

The words were said with such utter coldness and muted rage that Theodore stiffened on the spot and looked at the man, dreading what was to come.

Luna folded her arms over her chest and Harry merely raised an eyebrow, the rest of his sentence forgotten.

"Dumbledore's a liar," Severus hissed, banging his fist on the round table with so much force that a carafe of water and two goblets were knocked off, the liquid spilling all over the carpet. Theodore cleaned the mess with a flick of his wand. "Dumbledore's fucking lying to us!"

"Severus-" Luna approached him and laid a hand on his arm, but he shook her off, his neck and cheeks growing red, a vein ticking in his temples.

Bracing his hands on the table, his head hung, Severus took two lungfuls of air through his nostrils. When he'd calmed down, or so it appeared, he said, "Dumbledore lied to us about Hermione. Five months ago, Halloween's night- she didn't wake in the castle."

Frowning, Harry crossed the room and leaned against the back of the couch, beside Theodore.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Hermione said it herself, that she remembers waking up on Hogwarts' doorstep."

" _Because_  that's what  _she_  remembers," Severus gritted out. "Because Dumbledore forgot to  _mention_  that he was the one who found her in the fucking Forbidden Forest."

Years ago, Harry wouldn't have believed it, not one word coming from Snape's mouth, especially if said in disfavour of a man he'd considered a hero... but now things were different, now Harry knew the lies and withheld truths of the headmaster from his future.

Therefore, this time no one in the Turris Medius doubted what was just said.

Theodore paled in stark contrast to the red faces of Severus and Harry.

"How do you know?" the latter asked, shoving his fists deep in the pockets of his jeans. He was shaking inside.

Severus lifted his head and sneered. "I saw it. I caught him off guard and read his mind- Don't look that surprised, Potter, I'm a Slytherin who has spent most of his life serving two snakes."

"No one complains," Theodore mumbled, his brain still in the middle of processing the news. "But, why? Why keep it a secret?"

Luna took a step ahead. "I know why. But we need to sit down- and keep it calm," she added with a pointed look at Severus.

The seething man ignored her but reluctantly sat down at the table, making sure to scrape the chair across the floor doing so. Theodore inwardly rolled his eyes at the petulant child sitting across from him.

Like in all their meetings, Harry didn't join them at the table, usually preferring to stand or sit on the floor. Today he remained where he was, leaning against the couch.

"So, is this about where you two have been every day since we've arrived?" Theodore inquired, his chin poised in his laced fingers.

"Yes," Luna nodded, waving her wand in the air. An instant later, a pile of parchments rushed from her dorm and settled between them on the wooden surface of the table. Curious, Theodore grabbed what it seemed to be a yellowed copy of the  _Daily Prophet_. It dated back to 1926.

"A research?" the boy asked, fishing for another random sheet of parchment, this time an official document carrying the seal of the Ministry.

Nodding again, Luna took a similar document and held it high in front of her. She cleared her throat,

"'March 20th, 1918. Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland. Dark Forest. Discovery of two corpses, Lyall Knight, Zayev Grey. No apparent signs of scuffle _'_."

She picked up another sheet of parchment,

"'October 31st, 1910. Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland. Dark Forest. Discovery of a woman. Alive. Unnamed. Notes: the woman possesses no memories, no traces of Obliviation found _'._ "

Luna's eyes darted to those of her companions. "They are all like these. The first documented discovery dates back to 1830, but I'm sure that such findings have started happening way before then."

Glancing down at the newspaper still in his hands, Theodore realised that the front page was covered in articles about analogous events.

"Why have you been researching this?" Theodore asked narrowing his eyes, even when he already had half an idea of where they were going with this conversation.

"Take a look at these," Luna said, slipping a stack of old photos under his nose. Theodore's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. "Familiar, right?"

"What? What's familiar?" Harry pushed off the back of the couch and stalked towards them, leaning over Theodore's shoulder to check the pictures in question. His jaw dropped at the photo of a very familiar place: he recalled the roots rising from the ground, the wet soil his cheek had been pressed on, the old trees framing the eerie glade.

Harry rounded the table and sat in a chair. Theodore and the others shared a quick glance.

"That's where we found Hermione's beaded bag," Luna said, looking through a notebook filled with her annotations.

A dark shadow descended on Theodore's face. "That's where Grindelwald asked to meet us-"

"That's where I died."

Silence reigned for a moment, the time to absorb and comprehend what Harry had impassively stated, the time for the other three to, one by one, slowly lift their heads and stare at him in horror.

"I remembered when we found Hermione's bag," he continued, his eyes as emotionless as his voice. "There's a clearing. The trees are older there. The place feels different."

Both Luna and Theodore nodded.

"I remember it too," the girl said. "There was a sound, even Ron could hear it..."

"Like a pulse?" Theodore asked. He remembered it too, hearing it while following Luna, Ron, and Harry from a distance, his pocket watch in hand to guide the way, to what he still hadn't known.

"Yes," Luna replied, furrowing her eyebrows. "That's why, when we arrived here, I decided to go there again-"

"Alone!?"

"Of course not," Severus snorted. "No one should ever go alone in the forest to begin with."

"Anyway," Luna cut in again, "the thing is, that sound- it was there again. Even now as we speak, something there is  _beating_. But I didn't know the link with Hermione until two hours ago when Severus told me about Dumbledore's memories of Hermione's appearance-"

Harry understood. It was too obvious to miss it. "Dumbledore found Hermione in the clearing."

"Yes," Severus confirmed.

Of course, it made sense. Harry knew that there was something he should have confessed earlier, much earlier, but the guilt was still eating him from within. Only Theodore knew about it because Harry had confessed him what he was still blaming himself for, weeks ago, in a moment of weakness, when everything he'd wanted to do was drown his faults in alcohol but couldn't.

"She was with me," Harry started, rubbing at his eyes. "Hermione followed me in the clearing that night- when Voldemort killed me. She wanted to stop me."

Severus gnashed his teeth. "Why are we hearing this only now?"

This time it was Theodore who spoke up, more on Hermione's behalf than Harry's.

"Because Hermione didn't want to tell you. She still feels guilty for not having stopped Potter in the forest that night. Had she stopped him from dying- She thinks it's her fault if we are all here now."

The sound of the rain pattering down on the roof and against the windows seeped with its coldness in the draughty room, for several minutes dispelled only by the crackling of the dying flames.

With everyone lost in their own trains of thoughts, Theodore rose from his chair to tend the fire. Since Severus had expressly forbidden the house-elves from entering their tower, the task fell either on him or Harry, the only ones who found themselves in the common room often enough to require a warm environment, but neither minded.

Severus couldn't be blamed though, not for wanting to keep their secrets safe: Dumbledore  _was_  an omnipresent git, having eyes and ears everywhere in the castle thanks to his loyal portraits, ghosts, and the very walls. House-elves, being the naturally discreet creatures they were, could obviously serve as perfect spies for the cunning Transfiguration professor.

"So," Theodore broke the silence, making his way back to the table, "what we are saying is that something in that place transported Hermione here?"

"I'm not sure," Luna said, consulting her notes. "I've looked through everything I could find in the library and the Ministry's archives, but I haven't found anything about curses or legends concerning the forest. Only a fact. I've read that werewolves-"

"-fear that place above all others?" Theodore finished, eyeing Luna while an unpleasant memory flashed before his eyes, a voice he didn't want to hear again whispering sweetly in his ears. "'No creature dares pass here- Wolves fear it- and werewolves feel pain when they get too close' _._ Grindelwald said it."

"What else?" Severus asked, leaning forward.

Theodore shook his head, trying to remember. "Hermione said something... that unspeakable things happened there."

Harry Potter had died there, as many other people.

"It must be cursed," Theodore whispered, "it's the only explanation. There must be some kind of magic that worked on Hermione, for some reason. We should go take another look-"

"No!" Luna vehemently shook her head, "I don't think it's a good idea. We should learn more, talk to Hermione- maybe she did wake up in the forest. Her memories may be hidden because of a trauma. Let's just wait."

"Hermione and I will have to go back there at some point," Theodore reminded her. "Grindelwald will want to meet us there next time."

"We will think about it when the time comes," Severus sighed.

Theodore didn't miss the way the man looked at Luna for approval and instantly averted his gaze, mortified, when the girl shot him a glare. Something was going on between those two, but Theodore wasn't certain he wanted to know.

Theodore changed the subject. "Do you know where Hermione is?"

None of the others knew.

.

* * *

.

She's sweet and hungry and I can't stop tasting her.

After a week, it still feels like our first real kiss from that afternoon in the alcove.

It wasn't as slow and hesitant as in the Astronomy Tower, an uncertain touch stolen in the middle of the night to leave me dehydrated.

It was a claiming aimed to leave the both of us sated, an exchange of sounds and flavours to quench my desire and craving for this feeling, the most effective way to vindicate Hermione Granger as my business and mine alone.

I let her know so, I told Hermione how much I wanted her with every suck and bite of our lips, urging her to open up to me so I could show her that, whatever this was, it's powerful and I wasn't going to hold it back anymore.

Our bodies moving, pushing and thrusting, the danger to be discovered behind a single sheet of heavy fabric forgotten, I kissed her and breathed her and needed her, keeping my eyes half-open for fear that she was going to disappear and leave me to discover this was all a dream, a conspiracy of my mind- that I was going to see her wounded or screaming or dying, blood pooling under her feet.

But it wasn't.

She was real, and when her lips let me in, I knew she was there, because I was tasting her, finally savouring her for the first time. My mind wouldn't have been capable of imagining the sounds I drew out of her, her tiny gasps when I permitted her an instant of air, her sweet moans when my hand travelled to her scalp, my fingers entangling in her hair.

And now, after seven days, we are here again.

Hermione's everywhere. Her hands explore my chest over my uniform, her arms wrap around my waist and slip towards my back. Her tongue caresses and fights mine, her teeth scraping my lips and biting my chin, returning my own favours.

She's so good I may lose my mind again.

But I don't stop to think about my personal monster or my betrayal- I just don't stop.

Fuck, I can't stop.

"Missed you," I say between hungry kisses.

I haven't kissed her in a week, our schedules too tight to see each other for more than a moment without skipping classes- which is what we are exactly doing.

Hermione seems to read my mind.

"A prefect- skipping Potions- for an escapade," she pants, loosening my tie. "They should- give you detention."

"If they do- I'll make sure you get detention too."

When Hermione fists the front of my jumper and removes her mouth from my neck, her breath ragged, I tug gently at her hair and make her look up at me. Her heavy-lidded eyes mirror the lust coursing through my veins, uncontainable desire to be burnt through.

"Tom-"

Hermione gives me a helpless look and I need a long moment to understand what it means because my eyes keep dropping on her red full lips, my tongue tingling in anticipation, desiring nothing more than savaging on them until they are deliciously bruised- because, later, I want to see the proof of my claim, I want to be able to look at her and think,  _I've done this._

The instant her lips part, everything is tuned in again, our panting reaching my ears after having lost myself in hunger, interrupted only by the sound of the rain pattering against the windows across the corridor, the echo rebounding in our nook.

The air around us is tense, the glassy look Hermione's struggling to conceal and scream makes me so much harder.

I don't waste time overthinking and just hoist her up, her back sliding over the cold wall until our eyes are level.

I don't know if I like the absence of our height's difference as Hermione gazes directly in my eyes, for I don't know if she can see it, the whirl of emotions invading them and my brain.

Layers of clothes between us, I'm still left feeling naked, my soul bared.

"Wow..." Hermione breathes, warily reaching out a hand to touch my face, grazing my cheekbone and my lips. I delicately bite her index finger before letting her replace it with her mouth.

I attack her swollen flesh and she grinds her pelvis against me, making me gasp in her mouth.

Her hands clasped at the nape of my neck tighten, urging me to do something to placate pent-up lust built in the past week.

Hermione whimpers, rolling her hips to find friction, "Please-"

"Shh," I warn her, my voice strangled. "No wards here."

I sneak a hand under her shirt and cup a breast, kneading it over her lace bra.

Hermione shifts and draws out her wand, which she keeps in a holster under her sleeve, and mutters towards the tapestry, " _Muffliato_."

Digging my nails into her bare thighs, I bite her neck. "You are full of surprises."

"W-we should talk, Tom," Hermione says, tilting her head back, exposing more of her neck. It doesn't look like she wants to talk.

"About Grindelwald?" I nip at her skin. She tried to broach the argument last time too. "I don't want you talking or thinking about other men when you're with me."

She pinches my arm. "This is serious!"

"I've never been more serious in my life, Granger," I smile in her shoulder.

"Tom..."

Exhaling, I extricate Hermione from my arms and ease her to stand on her own feet, not missing the look of deprivation that crosses her face.

It seems I can't avoid this conversation any longer.

"I told you I already know," I say. "Grindelwald's coerced you into spying for him. You are his eyes in the castle."

Hermione pushes herself away from me. "How- how do you know?"

"Honestly, Granger, what do you take me for? What kind of business would Grindelwald have with you, a complete stranger until Hogsmeade's attack, if not this?"

She's watching me as if seeing me for the first time.

I roll my eyes. "You are a student at Hogwarts and you are close to Dumbledore. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

Silence.

"And now that I know the truth, don't think that I will let you see him again," I add smoothly, making my position on the matter clear.

Hermione instantly objects, pleading me to understand with her chocolate eyes. "I have no choice! If I don't do as he says, he will attack Hogwarts- and my friends.  _Our_  friends!"

"He just tries do that," I say darkly.

Grindelwald just needs to try. The man will see he's not the only one capable of murder and torture here.

Hermione's entire body tenses up, breaking the chain of my sinister thoughts.

Taking her chin, I bump her nose with mine. "You know you don't have to fear me, right? Because I would never hurt you."

She nods, but I can see she's hesitating over something. She eventually makes up her mind and steadily asks, "Have you ever hurt people?"

I let the question sink in, feeling my face morphing into a mask of indifference I haven't worn in a long time.

"Yes," is my terse response.

I didn't want to do it, I swear, I had no choice.

"You killed a man in Hogsmeade." A statement. "Zaiden saw you."

My mask crumbles at the mention of Hogsmeade, the mask I've worked so hard for in all these years shatters at the memory of Grindelwald's attack and at the sight of Hermione's expression, the question and the sorrow bleeding from her eyes.

"He was going to kill a child," I murmur.

Any semblance of apathy just falls away and I swallow down fear. Fear of rejection after my confession, the knowledge that what I've said is only a half-truth, that there's more to my actions- a voice hiding and hissing deep inside me, ruling over my perception of rights and wrongs.

There's no acceptance for such an entity, there won't be from Hermione and anyone else, not when I'm the first unable to recognise this hissing as my own.

Result of inbreeding may I be, but the voice of insanity haunting me in my head doesn't belong to someone else.

_I'm your most forbidden desires._

"Do I disgust you? Now that you know I've killed someone?" I ask hoarsely, my stomach clenching.

The death of five people stains my soul.

_You've liked every moment of it._

I'm disgusted with myself... yet I want to do it again, Hermione. For you.

"Not more than Grindelwald and his spy," Hermione says truthfully.

The grip on my insides eases and I give her hip a thankful squeeze, feeling her body relax as well beneath my touch.

Whereas my excuse fits in the name of the Gaunts, Grindelwald is an addict to torture, and his spy-

"Wait." I frown. "What spy?"

I narrow my eyes when Hermione begins to fidget nervously. "I-I wanted to talk about this-"

"What. Spy. Hermione?"

"He has a spy in Hogwarts," she says in one breath, her eyes closed.

I don't say anything for a while, mulling over the information and the signs I already have. It's evident. I can't believe I haven't thought of this sooner.

"That's how you got out of the castle," I reason. "That's how the Aurors got Confused... Who is it, Granger? What's his name?"

Her eyes avoid mine when she answers, "I don't know. I didn't see his face."

"So it's a man."

"Yes."

"And you saw him two times-"

"One," Hermione cuts me short. "Two weeks ago, Gel- Grindelwald introduced us."

I look at her lowered gaze. And then, rage rises from the pit of my stomach, because I know what happened, I know it because I have minions- I know that the master didn't lift his wand on Hermione and Theo last time.

"Last time- it wasn't Grindelwald who did the dirty work. It was the servant."

Hermione looks up. A growl of thunders ricochets off the brick walls of the alcove.

"He tortured you and Theo."

She swallows. "Grindelwald told him to do it... I- let's not talk about it."

I clench my jaw, irritated that she's even trying to find a justification for what happened, no matter how distressed she appears, but I let it go in the end, not wanting to spoil one of the rare moments I get to have her all for myself.

_I need a name._

* * *

The news of my relationship with Hermione Granger ran throughout the castle without sparing a single person, alive or dead. After three days from our second encounter in the alcove, the novelty hasn't worn off yet and congratulations and indiscreet questions are still in order, from anyone.

Letting the whole school know that Tom Riddle is finally dating a girl wasn't my intention, but one appearance of Slughorn in the wrong place at the wrong time had all my hopes destroyed.

The teacher actually caught us the moment Hermione and I re-emerged from our hiding place and any attempt at denying his assumptions was betrayed by the clear glance he'd been able to steal at our entwined fingers.

In short, Slughorn has managed to let the whole staff and student body know that his favourite Slytherin student has fallen for the brilliant, senior Ravenclaw girl in record time, fact that Evelyn must remind me at every opportunity to this day. Why the girl thinks that she was entitled to know before Slughorn is beyond me.

Every morning Hermione sits at her table and I at mine, Caliadne deserting her place at my side for the one next to her new Ravenclaw boyfriend. This doesn't mean that the Hufflepuff depressing trio of girls has ceased to ogle me at every meal, and thank Salazar that Hermione can't see them, but at least I don't find their activity that irritating anymore since my eyes are turned most of the time from them, fixed on my girlfriend.

_Girlfriend._

I use the word only in my head, not sure if it's of my liking or not: Potter has girlfriends, but Hermione isn't like one of those, a girl to be dumped after one use or two. I believe that most girlfriends aren't treated like shit either, but the mental association still keeps me from giving Hermione a label.

I don't know what Hermione is. She's not my lover, not yet, but she's more than a friend.

She's my...

She's mine.

Saturday morning I growl, glaring daggers at Alphard Black as he sits with his redhead mate at the Ravenclaw table, his eyes already fixed on Hermione.

Look away, Black, or I will rip off your charming grey eyes with everything else you have that comes in a number of two.

"Tom, I understand that you are jealous and Black is a jerk, but you should really check if your mouth's open and sounds are coming out of it before thinking such thoughts."

Realising that the fork in my grip is about to melt, I let it go and shift my glare to Flint, and then to Nott, who's containing his laughter.

Abraxas is pretending to read, his book held high in his hands to conceal a smirk.

Rosier turns to talk to a scared first-year.

Avery and Lestrange avert their gazes from me with no trace of laughter on their faces- I notice that Avery's left arm is still twitching. Good. Now he knows that calling my girlfriend a filthy Mudblood literally behind my back is no wise thing, especially when done for the whole Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables to hear.

When I look back at Hermione, I find her already staring at me, an indecipherable look painted on her face. I arch a questioning eyebrow and she lifts something, a white card-

Damn it.

"Come on folks," Flint exclaims, clapping his hands while climbing off the bench. "Let's go scream some dirty choir at the Gryffindors! Salazar only knows how bad I want to see Hufflepuff win today."

Feodor and the others follow the Slytherin's captain out of the Great Hall while I remain where I am, waiting for Hermione to finish her breakfast.

Ten minutes later we are ascending the spiralling staircase to the Turris Medius, Hermione showing the way in front of me. I don't mind the view.

Hermione looks past her shoulder to shoot me a glare. "Are you staring at my arse?"

I give her an innocent smile. "Not really, but now that you're reminding me you have one..."

"Whatever," she sighs, halting on the landing. "We are here."

I come to a stop beside her. "We are not going in?"

"Because hell's on the other side," is her answer. I feel discomfort and hesitation sprinkling from her every pore.

"Theo's there, right?" I ask, looking down at her, my hand sneaking under her skirt. She's so tense she doesn't even pinch my arm, not even when I squeeze her buttock. "It can't be that bad."

"It can. Harry's there."

"So you are worried about Theo. I'm sure they've made up by now."

Hermione buries her face in her hands, peeking at me through her fingers. "I'm not worried about Theo. I'm worried about Harry."

Having no idea of what she's talking about, I nudge her shoulder and open the little wooden door myself, pushing it wide to let her precede me.

"Nice," I whistle after we are both in. I close the door behind me with a gentle click. "It sure doesn't look like hell."

In fact, it looks like a common room, just smaller and more furnished. There's a little kitchen in a corner, along the round wall, elevated by three steps to separate the environment from the rest of the room; on the opposite side, there's a worn-out couch and two adjacent armchairs facing the fireplace. In the middle, a round dark table takes most of the space, its surface littered with parchments, newspapers, and dishes. Given the number of goblets abandoned on the table, I deduce that the tower isn't occupied only by Harry and Theo.

Hermione sends all the dirty dishes in the sink with a  _tsk_  and a flick of her wand. I widen my eyes as the sink instantly fills with water and a soapy sponge begins to scrub a plate.

"What, you thought I was only good at duelling?" the bushy head asks, smirking at my astonishment.

"That's some handy spell you have there," I comment, following her to sit on the couch.

Hermione nods with a small smile, waving her wand over the coffee table to arrange a mess of books in a neat pile. "My best friend's mother taught me. My household charms pale compared to hers, really."

"Why's that?" I ask absently, flipping through a giant tome about astronomy. Now that I notice, all the books in this stack are about astronomy. Feodor would drool over these.

"Because she ran a house of a husband and seven children- nine, if you count me and Harry. I guess that she got good at household spells out of necessity, especially those that helped her cooking. She loved cooking. And knitting, of course! She used to give us her home-made jumpers every Christmas, though I didn't get as many as Harry, because, well, of a couple of misunderstandings, let's say-" Hermione stops talking with a deep inhalation of oxygen.

"Sorry, I'm rambling," she says sheepishly. She presses her lips together.

Laughing, I twist on the couch to fully face her. "I like you rambling. You don't do that often."

"You have no idea how often she did it back home."

Theo appears at the foot of the staircase. He looks much better than the last time I saw him, wearing formal black robes clean of blood and dirt.

"I swear, she never shut up in class," he continues, crossing the room to settle in an armchair. "She was always talking. I remember overhearing McLaggen in sixth year saying-"

"Yes, yes, very funny," Hermione interrupts him with a swat on his arm, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"You went to school together?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. I don't remember Hermione talking about another school- actually, I don't remember Hermione talking about her life before arriving at Hogwarts at all. "Where?"

Hermione gives Theo a sharp look, quirking an eyebrow. The man clears his throat.

"Erm, we went to a school- in our village-" he starts, nodding to himself. "Up there, in the north. It's not famous... So, why are you here?"

I open my mouth to answer, but Hermione beats me on the second and inquires, "Where's Harry?"

Theo answers with a shrug of his shoulders. "Dark Lord contacted you?"

Nodding, Hermione produces the card I saw earlier from her breast pocket.

Grindelwald's note is another instruction.

Same place of last time, same hour, on the 20th. Now I know why Hogwarts is throwing a ball that no one has ever heard of before. Dumbledore must know Grindelwald very well.

"This is why you couldn't come to Equinox night," I accuse Hermione.

This opens another argument of ours in which Hermione says that she's going to attend the Equinox and then leave before midnight with Theo while I insist to go with them.

Two against one, I lose this argument for obvious reasons- the dangers, the complications, my duty to attend the ball, at least for a few hours.

I don't know their plan and I wouldn't like it even if I knew, but this time I can do nothing to change their minds since I know nothing about Grindelwald either.

Later in the afternoon, after a quick lunch that I brought from the kitchens (because, oddly enough, house-elves won't enter the Turris Medius), Harry, Hermione's other friend, joins us in the common room.

The air suddenly grows tense and Theo's uneasiness rolls off of him in waves.

I'm feeling increasingly irritated as well towards the black-haired man sitting in the armchair closer to the couch. From the stolen glances in my direction and the squinting eyes, I gather that Harry doesn't like me much.

At a certain point, after various sighs on my part and an arm slipping around Hermione's waist, he even breaks into a staring contest; not one to be easily intimidated, I take up the challenge and keep my eyes trained on his face.

Harry gives up after only five minutes and I win this round, but this doesn't deter him from scowling at me whenever Hermione can't see him. I always scowl back when he does, or that's until Hermione catches me and reprimands me for lowering myself to Harry's level with a hard pinch on my arm.

When it's time for me to go back to the dungeons, Hermione sees me to the door.

"He hates me." I glare at the turned head of the man in question.

"He's only very protective," Hermione smiles, "Honestly, I expected him to threaten you or something, but he behaved. I'm sure that in no time he will get used to, erm, this-"

Hermione wags her finger between us and I smirk, "This what?"

I like seeing her squirm and blush. "You know."

"I don't."

"Oh, please, just go," Hermione groans, pushing me out of the room.

I bark out a laugh, not offended in the slightest when she slams the door in my face.

.

* * *

.

Tom left the tower before dinner at Hermione's request.

A meeting between her boyfriend and her best friend was one thing, but an encounter between her boyfriend, former Dark Lord and murderer of Lily Evans in their future, and Severus Snape was another. Hermione wasn't sure she could handle a man on a quest for revenge.

When Severus and Luna finally arrived for dinner, Hermione gathered everyone at the table and poured five goblets of Firewhiskey.

She tried to ignore the way Harry's eyes lit up at the alcohol he was offered and, indeed, a glimpse of Theodore's displeased expression made her regret the idea of easing everyone's nerves with a drink. Unfortunately, she couldn't take Harry's goblet back without a believable excuse and without getting Theodore and Luna in trouble, who had told Hermione of their friend's moments of weakness. No one had witnessed the fact, but Luna knew that a house-elf had helped Harry the days following the battle, and so now did the others.

"So, you are wondering why I'm here," Hermione started when everyone was seated and had taken a sip from their goblets- everyone but her.

"Since we find your infuriating self here every afternoon," Severus drawled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, "no, not at all."

"Funny." Hermione rolled her eyes and Severus' lips curled upwards in the faintest smile. "Well, I'm here because we have to talk about the Equinox."

"What's there to talk about?" Harry asked. His goblet was already empty. "We have our plan. We get out of the castle at eleven thirty, Theodore and you go meet Grindelwald, I follow you under the cloak, Sev and Luna wait for us at the edge-"

"No," Hermione and Theodore said in unison. The others frowned in confusion.

"But, Hermione, it's the best plan we have," Luna protested. "We've already talked about this."

"I have another plan, a better one," Hermione said. "Harry will wait at the edge of the forest with you while Theo and I go see Grindelwald-"

"What!?" Harry cried. "No, no way I let you go alone, what if Grindelwald and his spy hurt you again-"

"They won't. I have information, remember?"

" _Fake information_. You say I'll pose as the student supposed to own the cloak if needed, but the spy will know the truth-"

"I have a plan for that. The spy won't a lay a finger on us."

Severus took another sip from his goblet. "How so sure?"

"I can't tell you- just that we'll have him cornered, like in our original plan."

Too lazy to reach for the bottle, Harry knocked back Theodore's Firewhiskey. Hermione wiggled her wand behind her back and sent the bottle back to the kitchens.

"You'll still be at the edge of the forest," she continued. "If anything goes wrong, we'll ask for help."

"Does Dumbledore know about this plan of yours?" Severus asked, blindly stretching his arm for a bottle that had been right within his reach only a minute ago. His eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment when his hand met with air. Theodore stifled a chuckle in his sleeve.

"Yes," Hermione answered, readying herself for a long lecture about why no one could trust Albus Dumbledore with secrets and plans because such misplaced faith was going to bite them in the arse sooner or later.

That's why, when Severus didn't say anything and only stole Luna's goblet to take a swig, Hermione and Theodore shared a look.

"Why not let Dumbledore go to the meeting?" Harry suggested. "Let the star-crossed lovers face each other and be done with it."

Dumbledore had proposed the same days prior, but both Hermione and Theodore had refused.

"No," Hermione took a sip from her goblet and immediately scrunched up her face- she would never get used to the strong taste of Firewhiskey. "In our first conversation, Grindelwald hinted that there's more to this war. We don't know how many people are involved and who's really the leader-"

"He's the leader," Harry interrupted her. "We already know how this war ends."

Hermione shook her head, pinching her lips. Then she said, "I don't know why, but this is different. Or maybe it's not, maybe it's the same. It's just- Grindelwald let on that he's not the one who's started this war. That he's not the only leader."

" _You are a cruel man."_

" _This is the second time you flatter me, Hermione. Do you really think I'm alone in this?"_

Perhaps he hadn't been the only leader the first time around either. Perhaps Grindelwald's defeat had discouraged everyone involved from carrying on their cause-

Or perhaps they'd waited for another Dark Lord to continue their attack. Someone worth to represent them.

Cunning and dark, someone who'd hated the International Statute of Secrecy as much as them, if not more.

Hermione spoke carefully, "Lord Voldemort rose only ten years later after Grindelwald's defeat."

The Lord Voldemort of their time had spent ten years on the continent, studying the Dark Arts, pushing his powers to the limit... gaining followers.

"Grindelwald's goal is to-"

"-rule over the world, crush the Muggles under his feet." Severus glowered. "Reminds us of someone in particular?"

Hermione sucked in a breath but didn't say anything.

"Well, Granger, now you know who those bastards will follow after we are done with Grindelwald: your little boyfriend."

Hermione wanted to object and tell him that, no, Tom wasn't Voldemort, he was different, he was better, but a logical voice in the recesses of her brain told her she was deluding herself, that she was seeing only the good in him because she was falling in his web of lies and omitted truths, for he hadn't been entirely honest that time in the alcove, when she'd asked him about the people he'd hurt. She was choosing to ignore the red glint in his eyes whenever they discussed Grindelwald, the spy or Hogsmeade, choosing to ignore the fact that there  _was_  something wrong with him and that he was suppressing it not to scare her.

She was being naive, convincing herself that the Tom she'd seen in the Astronomy Tower on New Year's didn't exist anymore, and she was falling. She was falling.

Coming to her rescue, Theodore spoke, "Not if we can prevent it, Riddle won't become the next Dark Lord. And Grindelwald will be defeated. For now, it's best to wait and keep doing what we have been told to do. With some luck, we will put an end to this war before it spreads and gets out of our reach."

Severus sneered. "And what are you two doing, again?"

"Spying," Theodore answered easily. "You've taught us, professor. A spy's lies can cut deeper than any sword."

.

* * *

.

" _I'm sorry, father."_

" _Men don't cry. Not even when they are alone."_

" _I'm sorry-"_

" _I've got better things to do than stay here listening to your apologies. Go somewhere I can't see you."_

" _Yes, sir."_

_Break free, Theodore._

" _I won't take it!"_

" _You think you have a choice, boy?"_

" _I can't- Think of Mother-"_

" _Don't you dare bring your mother into this! She's not here, so you will do as I say-"_

" _I won't!"_

" _Good for nothing, that's what you are. A coward."_

" _..."_

" _If only you had died with your mother."_

" _I still won't take the Mark."_

_This can get us killed, or worse. Do you want Grindelwald to see it?_

Theodore's temples were pounding. It hurt so much.

" _He loves you, Theo..."_

" _So that's what my black eye is, Grandmother, a demonstration of affection."_

" _I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry you have to see him like this. He used to be good."_

_Shove me out!_

" _I hate him."_

" _You don't know what hatred is."_

When Hermione retracted from Theodore's mind, the man toppled over the chair and fell to his knees, panting.

"This is getting nowhere," Hermione was saying, restlessly pacing the floor of the library conjured by the Room of Requirement. "There's something blocking you. Something deep in your memories that wants to resurface and doesn't let you close your mind."

"Grindelwald will- see," Theodore said raggedly, drops of sweat trickling down his face. "I will- give us away-"

"No," Hermione said firmly, swinging around to shoot him a stern look while helping him sit on the couch. "I won't let him look into your mind. He can't without making eye contact."

Theodore's head was spinning, the images of his father and his grandmother burnt behind his eyelids.

"You know you won't be able to stop him," he said, rubbing his forehead. "If Grindelwald decides to use Legilimency on me, I can only let him."

"We won't give him a reason to try," Hermione reassured him, even if she was assaulted by doubts herself. If Grindelwald did use Legilimency on Theodore, she would have to give their game away and do something... but what? Disarm him?

Hermione wasn't Harry. Yes, she was good at duelling, but not that good, not enough to face Grindelwald. The first time the two of them had duelled, he'd practically played with her.

She wasn't strong enough.

No, the only choice she had was to avoid a confrontation, therefore avoid to rouse the Dark Lord's suspicion.

Theodore brought Hermione out of her mental parley and consequential misery by asking, "Any word from the professor?"

There was no need to clarify which professor he meant.

Coming up with a plan to corner Gavril, Hermione had decided to confide in Theodore and reveal the spy's identity, something that had to be done if she wanted things to work out her way in the dreaded meeting.

"No," Hermione replied, her face hardening. "If he's done his homework by himself, I don't know and, honestly, I don't care-"

"But you do care," Theodore said, raising his eyebrows. "Or else, you would have told Dumbledore the spy's name- which you didn't and won't do, as I understand."

Theodore was as perceptive as his mother, Hermione thought.

"I-" she started, frowning. "Don't ask me how I know, but- I know he's good. I want to believe that if Noel is working for Grindelwald, there's a logical reason."

There it went again, that voice telling her she was being too naive, always so ready to see good in others. She was spending too much time with Dumbledore.

"Hermione," Theodore began with a bitter smile, "I know you find the idea of a man spying for the enemy for the greater good romantic, or maybe that's more Luna's thing, I don't know, but Gavril Noel... we don't know if he's a hero."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"He might be evil. He might share Grindelwald's views. You have to be ready to fight him and use him- if necessary, kill him. He tortured us last time... honestly, I want to kill him myself."

Theodore was right. Hermione couldn't be blind when the Ancient Rune's teacher was concerned. She cared for him, not in a romantic way, as she had believed during Christmas break, but she cared enough not to want to give up on him just yet.

"Are you in love with him?"

The question wasn't that unexpected, so Hermione didn't stutter when she answered, "No. He reminds me of Remus."

Theodore waited for her to elaborate.

"Remus Lupin was a spy. You know, he had to live with the pack and report werewolves' activities to the Order. He really was a hero. He was kind and smart and I may have had a crush on him when he was a teacher... well, that's to say, I know it's silly, but Gavril looks like Remus and... Is it stupid, hoping that he's not evil?"

Shaking his head, Theodore stood and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "It's not stupid. To hope is never stupid."

Hermione gave him a grateful smile.

.

* * *

.

The 20th of March was a Monday.

Hermione didn't see much of Tom during the day, except for a short escapade to their alcove after lunch. Shrugging off the memory of Tom's skin under her tongue, of his shivers and grunts, wasn't easy while she attended lessons in the afternoon. The feeling kept tormenting her the whole way to the headquarters when the day ended and throughout her preparations for the imminent night too.

Back in the tower, Luna offered her a hand to get dressed for the ball, but Hermione refused. She knew her choice of clothing would attract unnecessary attention her way, but she couldn't find it in herself to wear something beautiful and go meet Grindelwald in it- she didn't want to ruin expensive fabric tonight. Hopefully, she wouldn't ruin what she was wearing either.

At eight, Hermione was in front of the open doors to the Great Hall. The sight in front of her left her speechless: the prefects had really outdone themselves, making the hall unrecognisable and so much different to the one she'd danced in during the Yule Ball.

This hall was colourful and spoke of spring from every corner and pillar. It looked better. Or maybe she thought so knowing how much time Tom had spent working on it.

Thinking of Tom, Hermione let her eyes roam over the place until she spotted him sitting at a round table in the back, next to Feodor, Evelyn and, much to her displeasure, Caliadne Greengrass. From what it looked like, the flirtatious trollop was talking Tom's ear off, but her boobs were luckily not touching his arm for once- but Tom was smiling down at her.

Hermione started towards them, ready to ruin Calia's pretty dress and dramatically point her finger at Tom for betrayal, but she halted half-way upon noticing Adrian Goldstein walk over their table to hand out drinks.

Wait, was she really going to act like a total bitch only because her boyfriend was smiling at a classmate? Hermione had to remind herself that she wasn't Lavender or Parvati.

She was Hermione Granger, the epitome of reasonable and tolerance, not of irrational and impulsive- that was Harry.

Reached the table, everyone looked up, different expressions crossing their faces at Hermione's choice of outfit.

The girl could read the question held in Tom's eyes,  _I know you had other plans for the night, but did you really have to wear your uniform?_

Rolling her eyes, Hermione yanked him up by the arm and dragged him off towards the dance floor. Music started playing the exact time the two stepped on it.

"It looks like melting ice," Hermione said, gazing down at her feet, amazed at the way they created various textures with each step.

"Care to explain?" Tom snapped her out of her reverence for the floor, even if his chest did swell with pride considering that the ice effect had been an idea of his.

Hermione looked up, shaking herself out of her stupor. "Oh. I just wanted to dance with you. Before, you know-"

"It's still early, we have time," he said, moving with her across the dance floor, not really listening to the music but following a rhythm led by the girl in his arms.

She shook her head. Gavril was leaving the Great Hall now. "No, there's something I need to do."

Squeezing her hand, Tom shot her a withering look. "You said you would let me in on the plan."

Hermione didn't cower at the sound of his hard voice. "I said no such thing! You can't get too involved, Riddle, and you know. If Grindelwald happens to get past my mental shield-"

He scoffed. "I can't get past your shields, I don't see how he-"

"I'm not discussing this with you, not here," Hermione told him firmly. "Do you trust me?"

Tom didn't respond, but the slump of his shoulders let her know what she wanted to hear.

When the song came to an end, Hermione kissed Tom's cheek.

"I will wait for you in Ravenclaw Tower," he informed her, keeping her hands in his, reluctant to let go for fear that she would return bloodied and beaten like last time.

After an appreciative nod, her eyes narrowed in warning. "I know you guys will drink Firewhiskey in the common room-"

"No drink for Zaiden, yes, yes."

"And don't get into a fight with Evelyn."

"I make no promises on that."

With a final peck on her lips, Tom let Hermione go.

* * *

"Describe me the Great Hall."

Hermione smiled to herself, waiting with Theodore behind a statue for Gavril to leave his office.

The door had been closed for hours, but a simple charm had reassured them that the man was still in there and not off to see Grindelwald. It was essential that he didn't precede them and talk with the Master before they did- that would ruin Hermione's plan.

"It's amazing," Hermione started. "Not like the Yule Ball at all. It's bathed in dim light but filled with colours and there are round tables everywhere, each with a different bouquet of flowers. In the centre, the dance floor is charmed to look like melting ice. I think it's Tom's idea.

"Petals float from the ceiling, like from a cherry tree in blossom. And there are faeries glowing in the air, laughing. Their laugh... it's a beautiful sound."

Hermione cast Theodore a sideways glance. "Later... if everything goes as planned, later we can take Harry's cloak, so you can see it for yourself."

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. "Describe my parents."

"They are perfect. Your mother is wearing a floor-length green dress of silk. There's a pleated belt of silver around her waist. She says she chose green because it compliments her eyes, but I know better."

Theodore chuckled at this.

"She has a necklace of white gold covering her chest and matching earrings. Her hair, though... it's hideous, the most nonsensical hairstyle I've ever seen, all arranged on top of her head. Your father loves it, if the drool I saw is anything to go by."

"What about him?"

"Smashing," was Hermione's immediate answer.

"Thank you," Theodore smirked, nudging her with his elbow.

Hermione snorted. "You are not that much alike, the compliment was totally directed to Feodor. Anyway, he's wearing formal dark robes. They make him look lean and very pure-blood, with all those buttons and clasps and green nonsense embroidered in his jacket."

"Sounds like him-"

The noise of a handle turning cut Theodore short. He and Hermione swung their heads around and found Gavril Noel stepping out of his office, his face not covered by the stupid mask of smoke they'd seen on him last time, not yet at least.

The two friends waited for him to finish placing wards on his quarters.

"Damn it!"

Gavril jumped when Hermione and Theodore sprung up in front of him.

"Hello, Gavril," the girl chirped, her voice startling the man. It was the first time Hermione was speaking to him after weeks of having completely ignored him unless called on during lesson. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought we could go together to meet our mutual friend," Theodore answered with a pleasant smile, but his eyes spoke differently- he wanted revenge for their last meeting. "You know, same destination and all."

Gavril didn't try to disguise his suspicion, but he also didn't discourage them from following him. His game had been given away the moment the other two had caught him heading into the forest with two hours of advance, knowing very well that the official time for the appointment was at midnight. This could mean only one thing and that was-

"I wonder what our dear friend needs to discuss with you," Hermione mused, walking closely behind him as the three passed the Aurors watching over the Clock Courtyard- the two figures didn't blink an eye at their passage. "Something so secret he won't talk about in front of us, novices but loyal servants... should we be offended?"

"You should have been grateful," Gavril said through gritted teeth. Hermione didn't know what he meant, so she didn't respond.

They moved silently, listening to the sounds of the night, the rustling between the leaves- the air was warmer than usual. When they arrived at the edge of the forest, Hermione shared a glance with Theodore and he nodded.

Now, Harry, Severus, and Luna were stationed here, not far from them. Theo had warned them earlier while walking behind her and Gavril.

Time to play.

* * *

Grindelwald didn't look displeased when Hermione and Theodore showed up with Gavril, the latter wearing his mask of black smoke. The Dark Lord looked slightly impressed.

"Seems like someone is keeping tabs on you, Gavril," he said airily by a way of greeting, gesturing for them to get near so he didn't have to move from the giant root he was perched on. "I told you Hermione dear would hate you."

Hermione shivered, her eyes sweeping the trees around, the high trunks and long branches closing in on them like a cage. Now that she was here, all her bravery seemed to be sucked away from the surrounding darkness, leaving her in a ball of nerves. Theodore, who was standing beside her, didn't feel better.

What if their plan didn't work? What if it was child play against the experienced minds of Grindelwald and Noel?

"Well, get on with it, love," Grindelwald intimated her with a flick of his wrist. "What information do you have for me?"

Hermione summoned up all her courage.

"I know the name of the cloak's owner," she stated, looking intently at Gavril and ignoring the way Grindelwald perked up and started drumming the pad of his fingers excitedly together. Hermione gave the two men a few seconds of suspense before saying clearly, "Terry Wells."

There was a dangerous and sultry gleam in Grindelwald's eyes.

Hermione drew air in her lungs and went on, "Seventh-year, Gryffindor."

When Gavril opened his mouth, Hermione and Theodore thought that this was it. It was now or never.

So Hermione did what she'd thought impossible the first time, a mere coincidence, what even Dumbledore couldn't explain: through his mask, she bore her eyes in Gavril's and spoke down a thread she knew was there, deep down within her consciousness.

It felt natural, like talking into plastic cups connected through a wire, only the sound was clear in her head, void of any sense of distance. And it worked, she knew it would, she'd practised her telepathic skills with Theodore for weeks.

His skin paling under the weak light of their wands, Gavril heard her.

_Confirm what I say. Dumbledore's taking a stroll through these woods right now. I have my way to call him over._

Hermione could hear him chanting in his head,  _Fuck fuck fuck_.

The man couldn't run, couldn't Disapparate and didn't have a Portkey on him.

If he hurt Hermione and Theodore without a reason, Grindelwald would likely hurt him back.

If he told Grindelwald the truth, that no Terry Wells lived within the walls of the castle, Hermione would call Dumbledore over, or so Gavril thought, because, in reality, the Transfiguration teacher wasn't in the forest but in the warmth of the Great Hall, drinking Firewhiskey and chatting with his colleagues.

Still, with a Patronus or a jet of sparks, Hermione could get help within minutes and hold her own against the enemy until Severus and the others arrived, by running and hiding or fighting.

Hermione and Theodore had him cornered thanks to their very simple plan: give the spy no time to create a counter-plan.

_Dumbledore doesn't know what you are. Do as I say and no one will know._

It was true. If Gavril decided to heed Hermione's advice, both her and Theodore wouldn't reveal the man's identity, not to Dumbledore, not to anyone else, at least until the end of this war.

The two younger spies waited while Grindelwald moved to the centre of the clearing, grinning at Hermione.

"Good job, love," the Dark Lord bowed to her. "I knew you would be of good use."

Hermione looked past his shoulders. "Gavril helped me."

"Did he now?"

Grindelwald swung around and arched an eyebrow at his other spy.

Gavril nodded.

"Yes, my lord," he said steadily. "We heard the kid talk about his cloak to a classmate. We will do the possible to take it to you."

"Good."

Hermione and Theodore kept a grin from spreading across their faces.

It was done.

.

* * *

.

She's slowly killing me, asking me to be good, asking me not to feed my evil without even knowing of its existence.

But I see him walking back in the castle, alone, a cloak draped over his shoulders. I see him slip through the Clock Courtyard's entrance while I patrol the corridors with Abraxas, counting the minutes until I can head to Ravenclaw Tower- and I know.

I know it's him because he stinks of the Dark Magic of the forest. Because his face his contorted in pure rage and his fists are shaking at his sides.

And I know this time I can't be good, because now I have a reason to hurt him.

Now I have his name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six different versions for this chapter. Six. No kidding. Six.
> 
> The first contained a long smutty paragraph, the second was too violent, the third was a chapter out of Fifty Shades of Grey meet Battle Royale I and II. The fourth was similar to this version here but with part of chapter 15 too. The fifth was Jon Snow turning Ramsay Bolton into dog food, if you know what I mean *glances back to the last paragraph and smirks*
> 
> Not many chapters left from here, guys. I'm even thinking about working on another fanfiction after finishing this one, a multi-chapter Tomione story... I might reveal my ideas in the near future. I already know that I will write it in third-person, though, and I'll definitely restrain myself from adding too many POVs. I'm kind of learning from my mistakes thanks to Dark Games.
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who's following me and commenting this story. It really means a lot to me, so, really thank you! Without you, my story would be just a bunch of unfelt words.


	16. PART II: Chapter 15 - Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you are not hallucinating. Dark Games is back.
> 
> I edited this story from the beginning.
> 
> Here starts the second part.

 

"You heard?"

"What?"

"He can't leave St Mungo's."

"Who?"

"The teacher."

"I heard."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Yes... He's a member of this secret society- spies, you know, who fight dark wizards- Grindelwald came in the middle of the night and killed everyone. Made them all disappear. But Noel escaped."

"Bloody hell."

"He's a hero."

"We should go visit him..."

"Can't, no one allowed in but his sister. Heard it's serious-"

"Poor Professor Noel." Evelyn frowns, her fingers brushing the front page of the  _Daily Prophet_ , a bowl of hot porridge lying untouched under her nose.

"He's an idiot, anyway," Feodor shrugs, tugging the newspaper from his girlfriend's hands. When she shoots him a glare, he amends, "A poor idiot."

"Just because he's attractive and blond doesn't mean he's stupid," Evelyn punctuates, flicking her  _blonde_  ponytail over her shoulder.

"Come on, you know what I mean. He was..."

Evelyn raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. What he tries to say next doesn't sound quite coherent.

"I mean, Hermione- The thing is that he was-" Feodor's eyes meet mine- he swiftly turns them to Evelyn. He sighs, "Poor Professor Noel."

The talk around us continues, gasps and hushed conversations about conspiracies, even a few sobs here and there- Evelyn rolls her eyes, "It's not like he's dead. But I do wonder what really happened..."

She looks at me.

I smile.

"Me too, Evelyn."

.

* * *

.

"You heard?"

"What?"

"He's in St Mungo's."

Hermione froze on the threshold, her hand still gripping the doorknob. She jerked out, "Who."

"Gavril Noel." Theodore was slouched on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His dark hair stuck out in all directions. Hermione deduced he had spent a great deal of time fretting over this new development- and that's when she caught up with what her friend had just said.

Letting her bag fall to the floor, she stalked inside the room and sat across from Theodore on the sofa. She immediately leaned forward and asked, "What happened?"

Theodore didn't tear his gaze from the ceiling. "No idea. I just know he's badly hurt. No sign of struggle in his office- that's where they found him unconscious. Heard Dumbledore say there were no visible wounds, but inside..."

"Inside," Hermione repeated through her teeth, urging him to go on.

Theodore took his time. "It's bad, Hermione, and that's all you need to know. Whoever did it tortured him with spells we both can't even begin to imagine."

At last, he lowered his head to look at Hermione straight in the eye. "I believe there are skilled wizards who can find traces of dark magic on the skin of the victims."

"You are not saying..." Hermione couldn't make herself finish the sentence, yet she couldn't shake off the vision of the body of the victim in question, inside out.

"It's clever," Theodore conceded, but his face spoke of another sentiment altogether.

"It's horrible." Hermione rubbed her temples. "And what's with the timing?"

"Again, it's bad."

"Gellert?"

"You tell me."

Banishing morbid pictures from her mind, Hermione thought about it. Was it possible that Grindelwald had known about their plans to use Gavril against him and acted accordingly, taking himself well ahead of the game? Was it possible that he knew even more?

"No," Hermione said, leaning back on the sofa, "Gavril had a mission. Gellert wouldn't incapacitate his only spy at Hogwarts."

Theodore scrubbed a hand over his face. He spoke wearily, his voice muffled by his palm. "You do remember that he has two other spies at Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione smiled bitterly. "He doesn't trust us, Theo. He doesn't trust me. He knows I'm close to Dumbledore."

Theodore's head snapped upwards. "Are you implying that he's an idiot?"

"No," she scoffed, "I'm saying he's arrogant enough to believe his threats are working, that I won't speak to Dumbledore about my new hobby- but he doesn't trust  _me_. I have a brain of my own. With or without Dumbledore, I can turn against him any time. And he knows."

A hint of a dimple appeared on Theodore's cheek as he smiled slightly. "That's a big risk to take, even for him."

Hermione looked out the window at the sky lit by a pale disc. She said slowly, "I think... that he wants to win my trust. So I'll aid his cause willingly."

Theodore snorted. "Yes, he's succeeding. Winning your heart by threatening my mother's life."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes still searching the light clouds scattered over the morning sky. "No, the second time I met him, when he tortured me, he explained it to me. Why he's doing- this. He wanted me to  _understand_."

"You are not considering joining his cause, are you?"

Theodore seemed to shrink under the look of great indignation on Hermione's face. Sealing his lips shut, he glanced away and pretended to be tremendously interested in the stack of potions magazines recently brought over by Dumbledore.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked after several minutes of silence.

Theodore scowled at the mention of his roommate. "No idea."

Hermione blinked at him. "He's not here?"

"Nope."

The girl remained quiet for another minute, looking pensive. Then she cautiously asked, "How is he?"

Theodore looked up from the open magazine resting on his lap. "Why?"

She shrugged. "You told me that sometimes he... doesn't act like himself."

"Oh, that." Exhaling, Theodore closed the periodical and tossed it back on the coffee table. "He's fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

The boy raised his eyes as if looking for the answer in the water stains marring the ceiling. When he looked back at Hermione, he sighed again.

"We... are not talking. Much." If not at all, Hermione thought he wanted to add.

She widened her eyes and sat up. "Why?"

"You tell me," he muttered. "He started it after Valentine's Day. When you and Riddle left the Infirmary, he made a scene and told me to go to- well, he was furious that we went behind his back."

"It doesn't make sense. He didn't tell me anything."

Theodore gave her his best 'duh' face. "You're his best friend. The way he protects you makes me wonder..."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You got it wrong. We're like siblings."

The other shrugged again as if to say "If you say so", but didn't succeed in derailing the topic.

"What did you do?" she asked. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up on the sofa. With her head leaning back, she smirked at him. "I bet it's your fault."

"It's not my fault."

"It is, too."

"Not."

"Too."

Theodore glared at her. She grinned.

"You know," she started, adjusting herself on the pillows, "he's proud. And, well, touchy."

"And water is still wet, Granger. The point?"

"The point is, have you done anything to make him angry? To make him want to avoid you? Think about it."

Theodore made to protest but then he closed his mouth, his teeth audibly clicking.

"So it is your fault," Hermione nodded to herself.

* * *

After a quick dinner, the inhabitants of the tower and Hermione were clustered in the common room around the coffee table, where books, parchments, newspapers and a plate of biscuits were situated. Severus stood in front of the fireplace, his arms folded, an expression of pure displeasure painted on his pale face.

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, someone said," he sneered.

"Smile, tomorrow will be worse, someone else said," Theodore muttered, his eyes boring into the patterns of the faded carpet.

A long aggrieved silence fell again. When it started stretching, Hermione spoke.

"It wasn't Gellert."

A look of incredulous disgust spread over Severus' face.

"Gellert?" he echoed in falsetto.

Hermione primmed her lips, then raised her head. "It's his name."

Severus offered her a contemptuous smile before addressing the group. "We're walking out of this."

Theodore and Hermione shot to their feet at the same time, talking over one another. Harry and Luna remained where they were, the latter also expressing her disappointment- not Harry. Never Harry.

As soon as Theodore paused to take a break from his tirade, Hermione went on, "How can you suggest we leave knowing what Grindelwald will do to this school!? He'll destroy it- everyone! We are what stands between him and Hogwarts-"

"That there!" Severus barked, his index finger stabbing through the air. "That! It's the second time you've said it- You're delusional if you think you're what can stop him!"

"Coming from someone who helped defeat Voldemort-"

"Don't say his name!"

"I'm a spy!" Hermione bent forward with the force of her shout.

"You're a little girl who's being used by two men who lust for power and probably lusted after each other!"

Hermione felt herself being pushed back by the truth of what Severus had said. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

"You're letting them toy with you," Severus said after regaining his sullen composure. "He threatened you, yes. But you made him threaten you-"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but he gave her a sharp look and went on, "He tortured you, you talked. It's fine. Not your fault. But he gave you a piece of paper. You said yes. You said  _yes,_ Hermione."

"He'd have attacked the castle!" Theodore sputtered. "Tell him, Hermione, tell him-"

But Hermione was staring at her own hands, Severus' words registering. When she looked up, the man had his eyes narrowed on her.

"That's right," he nodded in bitterness, " _You said yes_. Without stopping to think that had he really delivered on his threats and attacked Hogwarts, hundreds of Wards and Aurors would have protected it- would have protected us. You didn't waste time to rise to the bait, you just had to believe yourself the only saviour. You were starving for some action, for some way to redeem yourself for your self-inflicted failures-"

"Enough," Harry said weakly.

Ignoring him, Severus finished, "You're his spy because, deep down, the idea of sacrificing your freedom for the greater good sounded poetic."

Hermione didn't have the force to even fist her hands in silent protest. She was horrified. Not because it was an insinuation, but because it was true.

"We can walk away from this," Severus said again. "This isn't our war."

"Enough!"

Luna leapt to her feet and crossed the room to stand beside Hermione. Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, the girl gave Severus a reproachful look. A muscle jerked in the man's jaw but he didn't say anything else. He merely pushed his hair back and sat down on the couch.

Giving a final squeeze to Hermione's arm, Luna stepped in front of the fireplace in the spot the morose man had just vacated.

She cleared her throat, "We are not leaving the castle."

Hermione walked to the window and sat on the sill.

Luna went on, "We'll deal with this. We just have to rethink our plan. As a matter of fact, I think Gavril Noel is a liability. Now that he's out of the game... we can use him."

Harry lifted his head. Theodore raised his eyebrows. Luna was biting her lip, hesitating.

"W-Well," she stuttered, "I just thought- now that he's in the hospital, we could, um, I don't know...," her voice lowered to a timid whisper, "question him."

Theodore whistled loudly, "Naughty girl."

"Little problem," interrupted Harry, clearing his throat, "The man can't speak. They stuck a Muggle tube down his throat."

Luna started to fidget with her hair. Her voice was barely audible over the soft crackling of the fire, "We could... read his mind."

Theodore nodded, impressed. "Breaking in one of the most secured wards of St Mungo's, violating the mind of the spy- I say it's a plan."

"If this doesn't work," Snape said stiffly, his eyes fixed on Luna, "if the next meeting with Gellert turns into a fiasco, if our spies fail- we are out."

He moved his gaze to the others, lingering on each one of them. Reached Hermione, his eyes narrowed to slits, "I mean it. We are out."

Later that night, Hermione and Harry were in a remote corner of the library, the place submerged in darkness if not for the dim warm light of the only oil lamp they had dared use. Both had cast several Muffliatos around their secluded area, not that it had really been necessary: the library was officially closed at this hour and the two friends had obviously used a secret passage to enter. Finding out that the small door behind the restricted section connected the Middle Courtyard to the library through an underground secret passage had been the revelation of the day.

"You're avoiding him," Hermione said without preambles, not looking up from the essay she was writing. Yes, she was working on an essay until late the night before it was due. Again.

Harry didn't pretend not to know what she was talking about. He simply shrugged, "He's a Slytherin."

Hermione dropped her pen, a drop of ink staining the parchment.

"Slytherins have feelings, you know," she said indignantly. Cursing under her breath, she hastily cleaned the scroll with her wand. "Besides, he isn't bad. If you forget the book incident, he's a decent friend. Funny too."

Harry muttered something intelligible, but Hermione thought she heard him say something like, "marry him" and "stupid snake".

There was silence, then Harry changed the subject, "How can you be sure it wasn't Grindelwald?"

Hermione sighed. They had already discussed obsessively how the Dark Lord couldn't have tortured his own spy, but all went back to the question, was it true?

"I know it wasn't him," Hermione said tiredly.

Harry made a sound in his throat to express his doubt. "Whoever did it must be smart. And an asshole. Fill in the name, Hermione."

"It's not Gellert Grindelwald," she said. Not because she felt like protecting him, Merlin forbid, but she was that sure it hadn't been him.

"Hermione, think about it," Harry leaned back against a bookshelf, his hands shoved in his pockets. "He knows about Theo, maybe he suspects Dumbledore is helping us- he must know we're making plans to defeat him. And then you meet his only spy..." He shook his head, "It's called prevention."

"Noel had a mission. I have a mission. To get Terry Wells' cloak and bring it to him. Why would Gellert try to kill the only spy he truly trusts when he's one move away from obtaining a Deathly Hallow?"

"Because he is a psychopath? No, okay," he said, lifting his hands in concession before Hermione could open her mouth to counter, "let's consider this. Who else could have had a reason to hurt Gavril Noel? Someone who either knows about us or about him being a spy."

Harry and Hermione gazed at each other, seeming to think the same name.

"Snape?" he breathed, his eyes widening. Hermione tried to picture their ex-professor hiding in Noel's office, waiting for his victim to return from the forest. She blinked the image away.

"No. I believe he didn't leave the tower after we came back, at least not until this morning."

Harry agreed, the relief clear in his eyes. "Someone equally capable though. Someone who might know Noel's a spy."

"Even Dumbledore doesn't know the spy's name. Except for us, no one has any reason to suspect Gavril. And, again, other than us, no one knows there's even a spy-"

She froze, her lips still parted.

"Hermione?" Harry called her, waving a hand in front of her face. She closed her mouth and reopened it, emitting no sound.

What she had just said wasn't true. There was someone who knew about the spy. She had told them herself, by mistake-

_Who else could have had a reason to hurt Gavril Noel?_

_Someone equally capable._

_Smart. And an asshole._

Hermione thought about it, tried to deny it, come up with other possibilities, but she failed. The truth hit her like a runaway train, the horror leaving her speechless and utterly cold.

She knew exactly who had tortured Gavril Noel.

.

* * *

.

I gave in.

I want to think it wasn't me, but even I can't believe this kind of lie. It was all me.

There's no other animal, no other Tom Riddle in my head.

If a part of me is mad, it's in me.

If this insanity is a product of centuries of incest, it flows in  _my_  blood.

And it's not my fault.

I can't spell it away. I can't kill it.

It's who I am.

But I can control it.

It's so easy.

The moment I gave in, silence greeted my ears- no hiss threatening me, no other beast fighting for command.

I was in control.

And it didn't hurt because I knew it was all me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while!
> 
> But I needed a break from this story, not because I didn't like it any more, but because I had so many other ideas and wanted to write something new.
> 
> You may or may have not noticed it, but I wrote another Tomione fanfic, "The Experiment". It's a dark AU story, a quite short one (only eight chapters), but it's different, I guess.
> 
> And on the same notes of The Experiment I'm writing a new story, a much, much darker one. I don't know when I'll start posting it, but I want to finish Dark Games first.
> 
> This said, Dark Games! I edited every single chapter. The changes can be subtle where there are no new paragraphs, but you may have noticed there are less grammatical horrors (I think, I hope!) I don't have a beta and I tend to write in the middle of the night, so it's inevitable that there will be mistakes .-.
> 
> About this chapter, yes, it's super short, but only because it's the first of Part II.
> 
> But I also know that the average length of my chapters is unthinkable, so I'll try my best to keep the number of words somewhat reasonable (something I managed to do with The Experiment).
> 
> Thursday used to be update day. Again, I'll try to go back to my original schedule, even if I'm posting these little five pages on a Saturday.
> 
> Aand that's it! Next chapter will come with a lot of action and a surprise! I hope you enjoyed this update and don't hesitate to let me know what you think in a review!
> 
> Thank you and peace out!


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